


Damned and Divine

by Draconicmaw



Series: King of the Night [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Vampire Turning, Vampire!Seto, Vampire!Yami, Yami ripping bitches in half, because I always have to have that, characters in order of appearance, vampire!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-02-09 12:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconicmaw/pseuds/Draconicmaw
Summary: "If at any time I realize that you will abuse this power, I will kill you. And you will not come back this time." A meeting gone wrong, and Seto Kaiba finds himself dragged into a world of shadows and blood. Guiding him, a mysterious man with a dark and ancient past. Sometimes, atonement for your sins can take eternity. Vamp!AU (When did I sink this low. Help me...please... anyone)(Fast updates until chapter 11 due to being copied from my account on FFN)





	1. Devilish Tongues

**Author's Note:**

> So I know there are A LOT of vampire AUs out there for Yu-Gi-Oh! (Unfortunately, many of them are on the… bad side of… bad.) I hope that this one is will be a bit more stimulating than the typical. It may have a bit of an Anne Rice atmosphere to it, if I do say so myself.
> 
> There are some side notes I would like to state. First of all, I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!, nor do I make any profit from my fanfiction, nor would I want to. 
> 
> Second, I will be using a mixture of both the English and Japanese names. (You will see how and why).
> 
> Third, Yami and Atem are the same character (as they SHOULD BE), but… so is Yugi. All one character (more or less). (You will see how and why.)
> 
> Fourth, this will probably turn into a Prideshipping fic. Am I sorry…? Not really. Am I sure…? Not really. I'm still playing around with some of the plot.
> 
> Fifth, I will be using anime characters that are not technically canon… *dun dun dunnnn* That's right… filler characters! The HORROR!
> 
> And… on to the story!

A chattering voice echoed through the receiver. Seto Kaiba's molars ground together. “Mr. Pegasus would like to have a personal meeting with you, Mr. Kaiba…”

Blue eyes glared up at the ceiling. “Proxies and emails aren't working for him any more?”

The secretary on the other end paused. “Well, he says that a face-to-face meeting would be more productive…”

“For whom? We've been productive enough. There hasn't been a single miscommunication.” The pads of his long fingers drummed on the desk rapidly. Their shadows danced in the slanting light of the setting sun.

The secretary's breath huffed into the receiver. “He just wants to discuss some things with you in person. Even you have to admit that some things cannot be communicated without?”

Kaiba pinched the bridge of his nose. Knowing Pegasus, he would urge for this meeting to happen no matter how much Kaiba fought against it. It wouldn't be surprising for the CEO of Industrial Illusions to hold their partnership hostage to get what he wants, no matter how inane said desires may be. “Fine. Just this once.”

“Mr. Pegasus is only available for meetings after seven o'clock in the evenings for the next two weeks. Will that work for you?”

Kaiba snorted as he swiped through his schedule. “It'll have to. Thursday next week is the only time I'm willing. Eight o'clock sharp.”

The clicking of a keyboard warbled over the receiver. “Um, Mr. Kaiba?”

His breath hissed through his teeth. “ _What_?”

“Mr. Pegasus would also like to request the meeting be held at his office in I.I.'s headquarters.”

His molars ground together again. “Fine.”

“Thank you for your time and consideration. Have a nice evening, Mr. Kaiba.”

“Hn.”

_Click_

Kaiba leaned back in his seat and rubbed his forehead. “Shit.” If KaibaCorp wouldn't profit so much from this partnership…

On the other hand, Industrial Illusions would, as well. Pegasus had as much on the line as Kaiba himself. One would think that he would be a little less obstinate, a little more giving. But, Maximillion Pegasus had always been more… _eccentric_ than most. (Kaiba could go as far to say that Pegasus was a _fucking lunatic_.) So normal behavior was out of the question in all circumstances.

A growl rattled between his jaws. His fingers twitched on the desk. He picked up the phone, drew his arm back, hissed, and slowly, painfully set it back down. Throwing the damn phone wasn't going to solve anything. No matter how much of a good idea it seemed at the time.

His email pinged, and he exhaled slowly through his nose. The app opened, and the subject line blinked at him.

**Manufacturing Issue**

His next tap sprawled the text across the screen, and his eyes followed the lines. Immediately, he closed down the screen and opened the dial pad. The ringtone trilled in his ear, and his jaw gritted back and forth.

“Hell--”

“What the hell do you mean the manufacturers reneged on the contract?” he snapped.

“Well, it's exactly what it sounds like. They aren't willing to go through with their end of the deal.”

“Sue the shit out of them. Then buy them out. We won't have to fucking worry about it anymore.” He ended the call, and, that day, he needed to get a new phone. Apparently, walls and airborne technology didn't get along well together.

* * *

“Jesus Christ, Mokuba. You're going to eat us out of house and home.”

The teenager shrugged. His long, wild raven hair shifted with the motion. “I'm hungry. And it's not like we actually have to worry about food.”

“I was _not_ a bottomless pit like you are when I was that age. You're a pig,” Seto grumbled.

Mokuba shrugged again. It was a wonder his shoulders weren't permanently lifted. He sat at the island counter and stabbed his fork into a piece of fish. “How was your day?”

Seto hissed. “It was shit. A manufacturer reneged on a contract.”

“Gonna sue the shit out of them?”

Seto's blue eyes snapped up. “ _Language_ , Mokuba.”

Mokuba arched an eyebrow.

Seto's eyes narrowed. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Another shrug, and faint lavender irises rolled toward the ceiling. “Well, are you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And then you're going to buy them out while they aren't worth a sh--” a piercing glare cut him off, “-- dime.”

“Naturally.”

“Then you don't have to worry about it anymore.”

Seto smirked. When he stood up from the island, he ruffled Mokuba's hair. The dark, glossy locks slipped through his pale fingers with ease. “I also have a meeting with Pegasus next Thursday.”

“ _Gross_ ,” Mokuba said, and shuddered. “That guy always gives me the creeps.”

“Hn,” Seto grunted in quiet agreement. “How was school?”

“It was pretty good! We did some really cool experiments in chemistry. I don't know if you noticed, but the silver nitrate stained my fingers,” Mokuba babbled before he shoveled more food into his mouth.

“Your fingers aren't _stained_ , it means that the skin cells are _dead_. Were you wearing fucking gloves?”

“ _Yeah_ , I am not a dunce. I think it happened when I was taking them off.”

“Be more careful next time.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Nothing's gonna happen to me.”

Seto shook his head and took a few steps to the doorway. “I'm heading to my office. Make sure you wash your hands a couple more times, you moron.”

* * *

The car purred and thrummed rhythmically. The city lights streaked by in the dark, sleek windows. One hand slung over the steering wheel, Kaiba settled back in the driver's seat. It wasn't too far of a drive to I.I. from KaibaCorp. No point in having one of his staff drive him there. Nobody but Seto Kaiba drove Seto Kaiba anywhere, anyway. (Except when Mokuba was practicing, but Seto was all but driving when he sat in the passenger seat.)

A glowing spire of a skyscraper pierced the night sky. Industrial Illusions.

He pulled into the company’s personal parking garage. A harried, despondent worker allowed him through the gate upon surveying his identification. Kaiba glided into the nearest unmarked parking space and exited his vehicle.

The dim lights fuzzed the edges of the images before him. He blinked and strode to the door. The light on the panel next to it flickered green, and the lock audibly clicked. The door swung inwards before Kaiba could even touch the handle. “Hn.” He crossed the threshold.

Where KaibaCorp's interior was all sleek, clean lines, Industrial Illusions was made of a opulent, indulgent forms. It was classical, deco, and modern architecture melding into a lavish, warm environment.

The aesthetics were pleasing, definitely. But the ridges and flourishes were superfluous and impractical. Especially for a professional space.

Two guards stood ready just into a small foyer. The nerves in Kaiba's spine prickled. Their faces, the parts that weren't covered by ridiculous sunglasses, were gaunt, pale, the shadows of the cheeks grey. Kaiba fought the locking of his knees and surged forward. His heart fluttered, a trapped bird, in his ribcage. He breathed slowly, steadily to combat it.

“Mr. Pegasus is already in his office. This way,” the monotonous voice of the guard on the left informed.

Kaiba nodded once, stiff curt. The two black-clad men turned, and Kaiba followed them through the doorway. Now, they passed through a great lobby. The ceiling vaulted high above, and despite the ethereal, dare say _heavenly_ atmosphere, the skin on the back of Kaiba's neck pickled. Three sets of footsteps echoed loudly through the enormous room. Despite the hour -- which, for an corporation, was not too late -- it was deserted.

Perhaps nearing the elevator was when Kaiba noticed it. The dichotomy between the men in from of him the footsteps he heard. His ear twinged, and he fought the urge to whip his head back. There were two more people behind them. Two more guards, Kaiba assumed. Pegasus seemed to be trying his best to intimidate him.

One guard pushed the button for the elevator with a pallid, oddly shadowed hand. The doors opened immediately, and the five pressed inside. The two men behind were indeed guards. The doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent.

Kaiba's nose wrinkled. Stale, cold air seemed to waft off these men. He nearly shrank away from the icy auras emanating from their forms. Fortunately, the ride was short and quick. The doors slid open, and Kaiba found himself staring down nome other than the man himself.

Maximillion Pegasus.

Long silver hair obscured half of his tanned face. The visible amber eye grinned from behind steepled fingers. “Oh, Kaiba-boy. Eight o'clock, right on the dot.”

“Punctuality is a virtue. Pegasus.” He waved a hand over his shoulder. “Can you call your dogs off now? Intimidation isn't going to work for whatever you have in mind.”

Pegasus threw his head back and laughed. “Indeed, it won't, Kaiba-boy.” He flicked his fingers dismissively. Two of the guards left the room, the others retreated to the corners. Pegasus gestured to the seat before his massive mahogany desk. “Sit, why don't you. All of this standing is making me anxious.”

“Hn.” Kaiba crossed his arms and approached the back of the chair. His blue eyes locked onto the it before they cut back up to the man in front of him. “What do you want so badly that you need me here in person?”

“An in-depth discussion about our partnership, and the resulting profits.” The corner of Pegasus’ lip lifted into a smile. “Among other things.”

Kaiba's nose wrinkled and his lip curled into a snarl. “I don't have time for your _games_ , Pegasus.”

“Sit.”

Kaiba remained standing.

Another hearty laugh. And the discussion began.

* * *

Kaiba felt like growling in frustration. Nothing that hadn't been discussed before. Nothing that couldn't have been discussed via proxy or emails. This was a waste of time. Precious time. A dull, throbbing ache settled into the back of his skull. With every passing minute, it grew in intensity, until it was a sharp spike needling his brain stem.

But something about the air was changing. Thicker, heavier. Everything blurred around the edges, and the breath felt like molasses in his lungs. His lungs heaved, and he sank into a chair. “Peg… Pegasus…”

Pegasus’ laugh was distorted. “Oh, Kaiba-boy. So resilient. I was wondering when it would finally get to you.”

Kaiba’s body went limp against the chair, and he couldn't stop his vision swimming or his eyes rolling about deliriously. “Wh-What have…”

His eyes slid over the man before him, saw a tan hand brush aside silver hair, the glint of gold. He groaned weakly. Pressure built in his head. His brain was going to explode and leak out of his ears.

A click of the tongue. “Come now, Kaiba-boy. Don't be so difficult. We are so close, and yet you still resist so strongly.”

Squeezing his eyes shut barely gave him an edge over the pain. “Y-you bastard.”

A growl rippled through the room. It was heavy, warbled, deep, shuddering. “I was hoping that it wouldn't come to this. I rather like you, Kaiba-boy. Oh, what am I saying? I've _wanted_ this for a _very_ long time.”

Kaiba's bleary eyes watched the red-clad figure loom up. A golden eye. The other burning into a sulfurous yellow. Even in his delirious state, the image seared itself into his mind. Jaws gaped opened, distended, a yawning abyss of flesh. Teeth like needles. Gray flesh slithered out, hovered in air, glistened, swayed like some serpent. The end opened, a wicked flower blossomed.

Pegasus, now some long-tongued monster, perched upon the top of his desk. His shadow loomed over. Kaiba squirmed and twitched. In his mind, he was running away. But his body wouldn't listen.

Then, the cobra struck. Fangs sank into his neck, and he whimpered at the pain. He could feel the undulation, the suction.

It was draining the life out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All will be explained in due time.


	2. Maximum Black

Within a flurry of shadows, he appeared. The black dissipated like smoke, furled at his sides like wings. In the dark, deserted quiet of the alleyway, it went unnoticed by the bustling city. Violet eyes cast up upon the tower of concrete. Glowing glass stared back.

He moved, though no footsteps echoed in the close of the alleyway. Like a shadow itself, he slipped silently to a small maintenance entrance. Pale, slender fingers brushed against the cold of a handle, and the lock clicked. A sweep of the hand, the door swung open. A garbage sorting room.

Workers within turned to stare at the intruder. Shadows shifted around him. Danced, swirled. The laborers looked away.

He stalked deeper into the building. Sudden haze washed over him, and, though he sensed it, he remained unaffected. Though he had little doubt before, it was undeniable now. The Eye. He could sense the others, Pegasus’ pawns, how they bunched amd swarmed, ready to advance, like harried little wasps. They knew he was here.

A blinking eye would have missed the motion when he appeared through the next doorway. The edges of his form wavered softly, and he melted into the dim gray shadows about him. Five guards turned the corner and dashed down the hall. He phased back into solidity.

The haze of the Eye grew. The creeping vines of its power entrenched themselves deeply into the very air. Violet eyes narrowed. Fleet-footed, silent, he slipped into the closing maw of the elevator the guards had ridden down. Even he swayed on his feet as it dipped before it ascended to the highest floor.

Humans and their contraptions. Although it _was_ faster than the stairs.

Less than minutes later, the door dinged. Luckily for him, it was Pegasus’ personal elevator, as it opened right into his office.

The man in question was crouched beastially upon his desk, his garish red suit rucked and disheveled, his stinger-tongue latched onto some mortal’s throat.

The intruder’s nose wrinkled. “Grotesque.”

Pegasus’ eye rolled up, dilated, the sclera darkened with black, pulsing veins, the iris sulfurous. It widened upon landing on his newest guest. The guards leapt upon the trespasser.

Shadows coalesced, cloaked, garbed, _became_ the strident figure that so easily crept into the private of office. A silhouette, black raging fire. Red glowing irises, the Third Eye gleaming from his forehead. With sable talons, so long and sharp, he rent his attackers. Soft as butter, their flesh split so easily beneath his retaliation. Sable blood splattered onto the wall in gruesome arcs. The copper tang hungry heavily on the air. One fell, shredded, dead, to the stained floor. The other made a last lunge, and the clawed hand gripped him by his throat. The black melted away and left behind a pale face spattered with blood.

The intruder's lips drew back. Fangs glinted in the light, crimson eyes faded to purple. He hissed menacingly. The sound reverberated throughout the room, and even the shadows rippled in its wake. The man in his grasp whimpered. The intruder let him go, and the guard collapsed into a wet, bloodied pile. Heedless of the dark liquid slicking his skin, the intruder turned and faced the man he came to see.

“Pegasus,” he regarded, voice deep, still, placid and dark like some fathomless abyss.

“Y-Yami,” Pegasus stuttered, shrinking back into his seat. A little red blood stained his chin from when his tongue withdrew back into his mouth.

“You had the chance to call them off. Yet you didn't,” Yami said. “You let them die.” One was not quite dead yet, but it was only a matter of time. A Strigoi of his caliber was unlikely to survive such wounds. “By instinct, they should have known better than to accost one such as me.”

Pegasus gulped, nervously tucked his hair behind his right ear. “I wasn't expecting you.”

“They never are,” Yami replied. He strode closer to the desk. The mortal in the chair was ashen. His heart was tensing and fluttering, close to death. Violet eyes imperceptibly widened upon seeing the man's face. “I apologize for interrupting your feeding. Though I hope for your sake that you do not plan on turning him.” Yami's gaze narrowed again, sharp as his claws. “I've exterminated enough of the spawns that you loose upon the world unguided.”

Pegasus chuckled, but the sound was shaky rather than confident. “PaniK was a loose cannon, not to be controlled. His disposal was understandable.”

“Yet you still saw fit to turn him. His actions and their consequences reflect upon _your_ poor judgement. Any more like transgressions and you will pay dearly for them.” Yami dismissively waved a hand. “But… that is not why I am here.”

Pegasus brushed aside his hair again. His falsely tanned fingers trembled. “Enlighten me.”

Yami leaned his hip against the desk, his arms casually crossed. But he seemed to loom above the other man. “I am not an idiot, Pegasus. I sense the movements. The underground is shifting. And you are the fulcrum.” Violet deepened to crimson. “You personally know I do not take insurrection lightly.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Yami-boy.”

Yami slammed a palm onto the desk, and something wooden snapped, though both were too preoccupied to figure out what. “Do _not_ play coy with me. If not from you, I _will_ figure out what,” he growled darkly the thinly veiled threat.

Maximillion Pegasus bared his needle-like teeth. “Your presence among us is a nuisance. Your meddling is ceaseless and infuriating. There are many who would prefer you gone.”

“You speak as if I do not know this.”

“Your ideals are lofty and impossible. We are tired of breaking our necks trying to meet your expectations.”

“What I ask is simple. It is not my fault if your avarice stands in the way.” Yami lifted his hand from the wooden surface. A wet black handprint was left behind.

Pegasus hissed in response. His tongue flickered menacingly behind his teeth. “What you ask is foolish, Yami- _boy_.”

Crimson smoldered hot. “Do not forget to whom you are speaking, Strigoi. You call me _boy_ but I walked this earth millennia before you, and I shall do so millennia after.”

“Don't be so sure. That arrogance will be what finally kills you.” In what Pegasus himself will later reflect upon as a moment of foolish impulse, his tongue lashed out at his uninvited guest.

Yami easily caught the stinger in his fist. The four small fangs and the throat-like orifice undulated and flared. His nostril curled. “Disgusting.” With a twist, he wrapped the appendage around his wrist, and the long muscle eagerly constricted like a snake. Yami smirked, and tugged threateningly on the tongue.

Pegasus choked, lurched forward. His hands scrambled across his desk.

“Since you don't seem so keen on answering my questions, I suppose you don't need this tongue of yours so much.” The sickening tearing of flesh echoed through the room as Yami's arm yanked back. Pegasus screamed. Black blood poured from his maw when it followed the ripped flesh. The long muscle twitched and writhed like a snake in its death throes. Yami casted it aside with a grimace. “Perhaps next time you will be more _cooperative,_ Pegasus. If not, a missing tongue will not be the only repercussion.” He languidly waved a hand in farewell and turned to depart.

_‘Mokuba…’_

The weak whisper echoed through his mind. He paused. The mortal was still alive.

_‘Mokuba… I won't… not… not like this…’_

To be on the verge of death but still projecting so strongly… Yami focussed in on that dwindling thread. Big lavender eyes flashed. A large hand ruffling a small boy's raven hair.

_‘I promised… I promised…’_

Yami closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned.

The mortal's eyes fluttered weakly. His chest barely moved with each shallow breath. Blood trickled steadily from the wound at his neck. The anti-coagulant was serving its purpose. Yami ignored Pegasus’ whimpers and sobs and knelt down beside the chair.

His brows furrowed into a knot. He gently scooped the mortal forward, cradled the much taller man in his arms.

There was still time.

He leaned forward, nuzzled into that pale, bloodied throat. Then, he bit down. His fangs pierced so easily.

He drank until he could no longer feel a pulse fluttering against his teeth.


	3. Same Disease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: the Millennium Items in this have slightly different powers. Example: the Millennium Eye. All will be explained in due time.

Shivering. He couldn't stop shivering. The cold was so intense it burned. It washed over him in sickening waves and slicked his skin with sweat. A cool, long-fingered but small hand draped across his forehead. He tried to speak, but he couldn't. His tongue rolled uselessly. His mouth was so dry… he was so thirsty.

“Don't worry. I know what you need,” a deep voice rumbled, vaguely familiar.

Soft flesh brushed his lips. Liquid, cool and bitter, coppery, gushed along. He choked. It was strangely viscous. But, after the first gulp, the others came easily. After a couple swallows, the flow tapered, until it was only a few drops. Thirst quenched, he drifted off on the tumultuous waves of restless unconsciousness.

* * *

Kaiba stirred. Even with the heaviness of sleep, his limbs felt light. He slid them along the silken sheets and sighed through his nose. So soft. They smelled really good, too. He turned onto his side. He stretched, back arched, toes curled. His eyes fluttered open.

Where was he?

He jolted upright, and the sudden movement made nausea crash into him.

“You’re awake,” a deep voice said.

He whipped his head around. A dark bedroom. A canopied bed. An old, ornate chair in the corner with a stranger perched upon it.

“Who the hell are you? Where the fuck am I?” Kaiba said in a raspy attempt of a growl.

The man snapped his heavy tome shut, and with a graceful, lazy wrist, set it upon the end table next to him. He sat in elegant repose, one leg crossed primly over the other, one elbow propped on the arm of the chair and his chin upon his knuckles. “My kin have come to call me Yami. My human acquaintances know me as Yugi. It matters not how you address me.”

Both of those sounded Japanese. But those angular, exotic eyes alluded to mirages and palm-laden oases. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Then what’s your actual name?” He couldn’t help but eye the man’s hair. It was wild like the mane of some noble beast. Kaiba wanted to bolt up, punch this man, and escape. But even with the airy sensation over his body, he felt lethargic and weak.

Violet eyes blinked slowly. “It's one better left to the sands of time.”

Kaiba pressed his palm to his forehead. His skin was surprisingly cool. “Okay. Where the fuck am I and how did I get here?”

The man, Yami, Yugi, whatever, just stared at him for a moment. “How much do you remember, Seto Kaiba?”

He wasn’t too surprised that this stranger knew his name. He was a famous CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation. “I remember… driving. To Industrial Illusions. I had a meeting with--” he paused. This stranger did not need this information. He could be a corporate spy.

“Maximillion Pegasus,” Yami finished.

“Hn.”

“Do you remember what happened during your meeting?”

He remembered the haze. The slipping consciousness. “That bastard _drugged_ me.”

“Not quite. What else do you remember?”

Kaiba grumbled. It was hazy. The flash of gold. A mouth full of razors. The serpent tongue. The drug had made him hallucinate, he was sure.

“That was no hallucination,” the stranger said.

“What?”

“Pegasus used his powers and accosted you. He used his stinger to drain you of your blood.”

Kaiba gripped his hair. “What, like some vampire legend bullshit? Yeah right. Sorry, I left my superstitions at home with my holy water and wooden stakes. It’s fucking stupid. And how do you even know about that ?”

Yami chuckled. “I was there.”

That voice. The voice from his waking memories. It was there too, when he was lost in the dark, drugged recesses of his unconscious.

“And I assure you, this is not some ‘vampire legend bullshit.’ It is very real. More so than you can imagine.”

“I'm not going to be fooled by your hocus-pocus nonsense. You're either part of this hallucination, or you're a kidnapper trying to disorient me. Well, guess what, either way it's not working.” He sat up straighter, moved toward the edge of the bed. “You're going to let me leave or suffer the consequences.”

The stranger arched an eyebrow. “Touch your neck, Kaiba. The left side.”

Though he curled his lip with defiance, his hand automatically followed the man's orders. Sure enough, there were two puncture wounds, like bad mosquito bites. He touched the other side. Four more, evenly spaced like the vertices of a square.

He snarled. “That proves nothing. For all I know, you just stabbed my neck with a goddamn pencil. _Or_ I'm hallucinating.”

Violet eyes flashed to crimson, surely a trick of the light. “Perhaps that doesn't, but this will.” Fast as lightning, the stranger bolted from his chair. He rushed upon Kaiba, and his strong hands latched onto his shoulder and shoved him back to the mattress.

Wide blue eyes stared up in shock. Black clad Yami's form, shadows that raged and danced like some wicked inferno. Crimson glowed down upon him. The back of a clawed, deathly cold hand traced down his cheek. Kaiba squirmed, but those hands gripped his wrists and pinned them to the mattress. His skin tingled; they were sucking the heat out of him. Black smoky wings unfurled, arched high above both of their heads.

The shadow figure hunkered down low. “A man as smart as you should know that one cannot physically interact with his _hallucination_.” That deep voice resonated, the syllables susurrated like the wind at midnight.

Kaiba shook, his every nerve trembled. “H-Holy shit.”

The monster growled. It withdrew as suddenly as it lunged, and, before Kaiba knew it, Yami was relaxing back into his chair.

Kaiba stayed laid back. His quaking fingers curled into the sheets. “This… this is one fucked up dream.” His voice was but a hollow whisper.

It was the only explanation. Hallucinations _can't_ be physically touched. But, for a dream, it seemed so vivid, so… _crisp_. There was an inkling of doubt that he could conjure a figment as lurid as the… _monster_ before him.

“Whether you believe it or not, I must tell you what transpired,” Yami began. “Pegasus is Strigoi, one of the many varieties of vampire. He was either attempting to enthrall you, or turn you into one of his spawn. Perhaps only kill you. I did not have the chance to ask him.”

Kaiba shook his head vehemently, though he couldn't bring himself to speak.

“He has an artifact called the Millennium Eye. He used it to amplify his own powers. I imagine he was trying to render you unconscious, to control your body to do his bidding, like some soulless puppet.”

Kaiba covered his face with his hands. No, he didn't want to listen to any of this. It was ridiculous.

“Fortunately for you, they don't work quite as well on humans as they do us.”

“Us?” Kaiba snapped.

Yami's eyes narrowed. “Yes. I thought you'd gather that I, too, am one of the Children of the Night. Though Pegasus and his ilk are but a mockery of my power. Now, you, too, are one of us. I bit you, drained the last of your blood. I hoped that my bite would overcome that of Pegasus, but we have yet to see if I prevailed. I have little doubt I did.”

Kaiba hissed and bolted upright once again. “What?! Are you insane?!”

“Don't believe me? You are most stubborn. Notice, even when you trembled in fear your heart remained still in your chest.”

Kaiba scrambled, pushed both of his hands to different pulse points.

Nothing. Nothing but silence and cold flesh.

“The heat of your human body has dissipated to the cold of the grave. You are undead now.”

Kaiba trembled, shivered deep to his core. It felt as if his whole body were about to shake apart. He stared, unblinking, at his pale, twitching hands. “Wh-what have you done to me?”

Yami's deep voice drew nearer. “The options were limited. Would you rather be dead? Though you have your precious Mokuba to protect?”

Blue eyes snapped up to violet. “How do you know about him?”

“Your call to him was what drew me to you. So strongly you clung to his image that you narrowly escaped the clutches of death.” Yami's voice grew quiet, gentle, understanding. “He's very important to you. I understand the struggle of protecting loved ones.”

“You know nothing!” Kaiba hissed.

“More than you. I have had thousands of years to love and lose.”

“Shut up!” He rocked back and forth on the bed. None of this was happening. It was all just a dream. He would wake up and he would realize that he fell asleep at his desk.

Cool hands rested upon his shoulders, and he tore himself away. “Don't touch me!”

“Your mania is predictable. Please, rest.”

Kaiba bolted up, though vertigo pounded behind his eyes. “Let me out of here!”

“I cannot do that.”

Kaiba made for the door, but Yami was there in a flash.

“I do not want to do this, but if you do not calm down, I may have to force you.”

Kaiba lunged at his captor. Yami ducked beneath his arm and grabbed him by the throat. He hardly squeezed, but already the edges of Kaiba's vision were feathering black. His body slacked, and lithe arms encompassed him before he collapsed to the floor. Before his eyes slid shut, all he could see was a blood red glow.

Yami sighed as he held the limp man in his arms. “I can already tell you will be a handful.” Hopefully, Yami won't need to forcefully sedate him frequently. He shifted his hold and stood. Seto Kaiba was draped in his arms like some distressed damsel.

He settled the fledgling back onto the mattress. He hovered over his charge, and with one slender finger, lifted Kaiba's lip. The canine was just barely extended, though the tip was much sharper than the normal human's. He gripped Kaiba's lower jaw and opened his mouth.

He frowned a little.

A slightly elongated tongue. Hopefully the only remnant of Pegasus’ influence.

He let go of the fledgling's face and patted his cheek. He deftly undid his wristband and dragged a clawed nail across the dark veins there. His face remained passive, though his flesh split and dark red blood welled.

He cradled the back of Kaiba's head and tilted him forward. The moment his blood touched those sleeping lips they parted. Never had Yami been more glad that vampires could drink in their sleep. He petted the disheveled brown locks as Kaiba supped. Before long, the wound knitted closed, and Yami licked clean his wrist.

He moved back to the chair, sat, and opened his book.


	4. Ichor

The scorching sun blazed down upon the sand. He shielded his eyes from the merciless rays.

“Your Holiness,” a voice called, echoed through the viscous heat.

He turned. Blue eyes pierced into him. The sand fell away. White armor gleamed. The rasp of a sword drawn from its scabbard.

“You’ll stand in my way for the last time.”

His feet sunk into the ground. The darkness sucked him down. From the black, luminescent wings unfurled. They wrapped him in their loving embrace.

_You shall never see the light of day again._

* * *

Yami jolted to wakefulness. His book laid open over knee. He was still reclined in the chair. He rubbed his forehead a moment. Giving his blood so often normally didn’t take such a toll on him. He stood. He walked from the room.

* * *

Kaiba crawled back to consciousness. “Ugh…” A throbbing ache pounded at the back of his head. His mouth was dry as sandpaper. A sharp pain echoed in his gut.

Ruby eyes haunted the darkness behind his eyelids.

What a weird fucking dream. “Just wait until Mokuba hears about it… Jesus…”

Then his eyes opened, and he froze.

Dark green canopy curtains. His fingers curled into silken sheets. “No… NO. Fuck!” Slowly, he sat up. The ornate chair sat empty. “Goddamnit.” With tender caution of his pounding headache, he slid to the edge of the mattress. The smooth, dark floorboards felt unusually warm against his bare feet. He frowned, and dipped down to check under the bed.

It was just an empty gap.

He scoffed to himself. Why would that guy hide under the bed? Jesus. He really was going crazy.

When he stood, his sudden vertigo nearly knocked him back. His chest lifted with his deep breath, and he held his forehead in his palm. The coolness of his hand eased the gnawing edge of the pain. The darkness of the room lulled him. The lamp was off now.

And there were no windows.

He shuffled past the bed. The door was wide open. He rushed closer. He slowly leaned through the doorway.

A hallway, dimly lit. Gray brick and stone, though a plush rug lined the center of the hallway. But the architecture was unmistakable. Kaiba’s brows furrowed. It was a repurposed Catholic church. He looked down both ends of the corridor. There was no sign of his shadowed captor.

He warily stepped out. The smell of dust and rock and wax swirled about him. A tinge of copper and sweat stained it. He lifted the neck of his undershirt up for a sniff. The blood and sweat was coming from _him._ _Gross_. He tugged on the collar of his button-up. It was stiff with dried brown-red. His nose wrinkled.

He looked both ways down the corridor again. He turned to the right. His footfalls hardly made a sound, and he padded down to the next door. He carefully jiggled the knob. It was locked. When he neared the next door, he stopped. Rhythmic, nearly musical clicking emitted from behind the door. It occasionally preceded a chirping _ping!_ He pressed his ear to the heavy wood. What the fuck was that sound?

“You may enter, Kaiba,” that deep voice intoned from within.

Kaiba hastily backed away.

“I know you’re there. There is no point in concealing your presence.”

The clicking continued. _Ping!_

Against his better judgement, Kaiba opened the door.

A vast study. Shelves upon shelves of tomes. The air _tasted_ of old paper and faded ink. Behind a huge, old mahogany desk, sat Yami. Before him, in all its brassy glory, rested an antique typewriter. His slender fingers danced over the keys. The tiny hammers pattered against paper in a cascade of sound. _Ping!_

Kaiba thought briefly that the stranger’s typing rivaled, might even surpass, his own in speed.

“Come, sit,” Yami invited. His purple eyes lifted to his unwilling guest, but his fingers maintained their steady rhythm.

“No,” Kaiba snapped. But his feet moved on their own, and he found himself settling into the velvet cushions of a crested chair.

Yami chuckled and plucked his finished page off the paper guide. With a deft grip, he set it neatly to the side. The typewriter itself soon followed, despite its bulky size. “How are you feeling?”

Kaiba gritted his teeth. “My head is pounding. What the hell did you do to me?”

Yami set his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. “I sedated you with my powers. A migraine is not uncommon.”

Kaiba scoffed. “Your powers, my ass.”

A smirked curled pale lips. Fangs glinted briefly in the light of the lamp. “After all you have seen, you still deny reality.”

An elbow on the arm of the chair, Kaiba held his forehead in his palm. “I’m going batshit crazy. I’ve finally cracked.” Yami’s held tilted back, and he laughed heartily. It was a deep, musical sound. Blue eyes helplessly traced the lines of that slender throat. That sharp pain tore into his stomach. Kaiba’s molars ground together. “What’s so damn funny, you freak? And what the hell kind of person has a typewriter?”

The corner of Yami’s lip was still lifted. “Don’t you feel it? Deep in your gut, within your still heart? You know this is no joke.”

Kaiba gulped. Perhaps that was the most intimidating part. He could always sense a liar when he heard one. But the man before him radiated honesty, in both action and word.

“Maybe we’re both crazy, and we are feeding each other’s delusions,” Kaiba reasoned. “You’re clearly not right in the head.” The last words dragged out on a growl. As evidenced by the fact that he was holding Kaiba captive. A shadowed monster lurked behind his eyelids. He wasn’t going to escape anytime soon, not if Yami had anything to say, or _do_ , about it. “If you’re going to keep me prisoner, I want to know some things.” But where to start...

Yami arched an eyebrow at his choice of words, but acquiesced with a slight nod.

“How long has it been since the incident in Pegasus’ office?”

“Three days. You spent two of those days in the throes of the change. The last was a bit… imposed.”

Kaiba’s hand clenched in his hair. Someone definitely would have noticed him missing by now. Mokuba would have felt something off after the first night. Sure, Seto had spent nights at the office before, but he always called home beforehand. Then, his secretary, and all of his business associates. But his car was left at Industrial Illusions. Someone could track it there. Unless Pegasus managed to clear it out. Or Yami stole it. Which he doubted, for some reason.

He growled in frustration. He had foolishly refrained from telling anyone at KaibaCorp about the meeting with Pegasus. It just slipped his mind. After all, appointments were normally scheduled through his secretary.

He was sloppy.

Mokuba was the only person outside of I.I. that knew about the meeting. He could easily report it to the police, but with the sort of political sway Pegasus had, he would divert the attention with a flick of his wrist. Unless he directed it to Yami, the true kidnapper. But that seemed unlikely. Pegasus would want nothing to do with the scandal.

“Shit,” he hissed. At least he didn’t have to worry about the company being run correctly. Mokuba was fifteen, and Seto had made sure that his brother knew how to run KaibaCorp in his absence long before that. It didn’t stop him from worrying, though.

“Do you have other questions?” Yami inquired.

“My car is at Industrial Illusions. People know I am missing, and where I went. What is stopping Pegasus from sending the police your way?”

Yami chuckled. A dark smirk contorted his face. Kaiba shivered. “He has… _incentive_ to leave me be. And no amount of armed humans could ever hope to harry me or my abode.”

“Hn.” He paused a moment. “What sort of incentive?”

“Let’s just say that he did not make it through our last encounter unscathed.”

“Why didn’t you just kill him? He wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He wouldn’t need _incentive_ because he would be _dead_.”

Yami waved a pale hand languidly. “He’s more valuable alive than dead. Though that is subject to change."

“Hn.”

Silence fell over the pair. The resonance of Kaiba’s own voice in his skull exacerbated his migraine. Yami turned back to his papers, which he neatly organized and slipped way into drawer, locked upon closing. Violet eyes glanced up to the gaze that followed him.

“I’m sure you hunger yet again, Kaiba.”

“What?”

Yami stood and walked to the front of the desk. Arms crossed, he leaned his hip against the wood. Kaiba stared at him. The man was actually quite short. His forehead probably didn’t even reach Kaiba’s collarbone.

“You need to feed again,” Yami clarified.

Brown brows furrowed. “What the hell? _Feed?_ I hope you aren’t going on about this vampire garbage still.”

Violet eyes narrowed. “You mouth is dry, is it not?”

“That’s nothing a little water can’t fix, you freak.”

“Your head probably is still pounding. A sharp ache is developing in your stomach. Feels quite like being stabbed, if it weren’t so hollow.”

“So what? What would you even do about it anyways?” Kaiba snarled.

Deft fingers plucked free the band around Yami’s wrist. A nail, suddenly thick and sharp, dragged over the dark veins there. Dark red, nearly purple-toned blood welled up eagerly. The liquid was viscous, thick, but still so lithe as it unfurled over pale flesh. Kaiba’s stomach clenched painfully. His tongue darted out to wet his chapped lips. His throat was so dry…

A bitter tang blossomed over his palette. A purr rumbled low in his chest. He recognized this taste. A small, long-fingered hand combed through his hair. His eyes snapped open.

He cradled a small hand in his grasp. The slender fingers seemed dwarfed by his own. Dark red was smeared into long streaks on white marble skin. Yami loomed above him, purple eyes passive, pleased.

Kaiba had been licking up the blood.

He recoiled, flung the proffered wrist, wrenched his head from that grasp. “Holy fuck!” His gums ached, his gut cramped, seemingly in protest to his vehement rejection.

Yami shifted closer, though, unfazed.

Kaiba scrambled back against the chair. “No! Stay away, you bastard!”

Yami shot forward. He wrenched his hand into Kaiba's hair and yanked him closer. Kaiba's lips mashed into and slipped on that blood-slick wrist.

“Drink,” Yami commanded firmly. “Before the wound closes.”

Copper washed up into Kaiba's nostrils, lurid crimson smeared his lips and trickled down his chin. He gasped, growled, but with each breath he was inundated by heady temptation. That bitter tang traced its way into his mouth, and his tongue rolled deliriously against the confines of his teeth. He latched onto a forearm. His nails curled into solid, cold muscle.

He whimpered. Yami pressed him tighter, held him closer.

His shoulders slumped. His lips sealed onto the weeping flesh.

And he drank.

* * *

“Mr. Pegasus,” the little secretary said quietly, “You have a visitor.”

A cognac eye blinked slowly, a silver eyebrow arched.

“He says he's from… Paradius?”

He gulped, and waved acceptingly.

She left, and a tall form took her place. Heterochromatic eyes gazed upon him. “Pegasus.”

Pegasus nodded his greeting.

“Ah, too good to give proper salutations now?”

A grim frown twisted his lips. His jaw distended, teeth lengthened, and a ragged stump of a tongue darted out cautiously.

The austere, statuesque face of his visitor grimaced. “I see. I can only assume who afflicted such an injury upon you. Was it… him?”

Lips tensed into a hard line. A stiff nod.

The visitor's eyes darkened, his skin flushed purple before it returned to its pallor.

“He must be eliminated. It's only a matter of time.”

 


	5. Wretched Appetite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the five people following this train-wreck-in-progress! Triple shout out to my beta-reader and sole reviewer of this story! *blows big wet kiss to all*

Mokuba rubbed his eyes blearily.

No where. Seto… vanished.

His car was gone. Industrial Illusions denied any existence of a meeting between the CEO of KaibaCorp and Maximillion Pegasus. The mexia knee nothing. The board of directors rallied for silence over the subject. Seto Kaiba would turn up, they were sure. Or a ransom letter would come in by mail. Authorities investigated quietly.

Mokuba could understand their position. Shareholders would panic. Stocks could plummet. Other companies would swirl about them like vultures over a festering carcass.

But Mokuba was not worried about Kaiba, the multi-billionaire genius. Mokuba could only think of _Seto_ , the big brother, the guardian, the smartass.

He pressed a hand to his forehead. His shoulders shook, and he choked on the lump in his throat.

“S-Seto…”

He didn't hear the fluttering of wings over the ache of his heart. A small silhouette landed upon his sill.

_Clack_

He jumped at the sound. He glanced over.

A dark bird with piercing red eyes stared through the glass. Its long beak gently tapped upon his window.

He hiccuped, eyebrows furrowed.

It tapped upon his window. The slender head tilted, the red eyes stared. A folded piece of paper was grasped in its bill.

He drifted to the window. He opened the side without the screen. Red eyes stared. With slender legs, it stepped in. He held out a hand. It lowered its head and gently placed the paper onto his palm.

Red eyes stared. Mokuba held its gaze and slowly unfolded the paper.

He squinted. It was written with a typewriter.

_Dear Mokuba Kaiba,_

_Your brother is safe. Trust not Pegasus, trust not Paradius. Do not go out at night._

_Seto will see you as soon as he is well. He will be secure in my care._

_Wishing you peace in the twilight,_

_A friend_

Just as his eyes traced the last letter, wings fluttered. He looked up. The bird was gone.

* * *

Swooping from the sable abyss of night, the heron alighted on the belfry. Feathers melted into shadow, froze into flesh. The motion never stopped; the man in the bird's place fluidly strode to the hatch on the floor and the ladder beneath it.

He ambled through the building, and when he passed the door of his charge, he paused a moment to undo all the locks and latches. He could hear running water and splashes echo from within. He left the door ajar and continued on his way.

* * *

Kaiba rubbed his wet hair with a towel. It was plush. The soft fabric pushed between his fingers as down might. Cleaned of all the sweat and the blood, he might have said he felt human again. But the unmoving organ in his chest refuted any such claim.

He stepped from the bathroom and into the room that was his prison. He left the door, a panel that blended in perfectly with the wall, open to vent the steam. He grimaced at the bloodied clothes on the floor. He certainly didn't want to put those on again.

Might as well check the wardrobe.

Soft shirts, perfectly hung, lined up. He checked the sizes. A little bit bigger than his own, but they'd do. Undershirts, underwear, pants of assorted variety, and socks were precisely folded and stacked in the drawers. They were all vaguely his size, mostly a tad bit bigger.

Dressed, hair still wild and damp, Kaiba approached the door. It was cracked open slightly. He stepped into the hall.

Yami… returned. From wherever he went.

After Kaiba… ate, he'd lulled quickly to sleep in that chair, like some sated infant. He'd awoken, slipped between sheets, the door locked. Kaiba assumed Yami would simply let him roam with supervision, so it meant that Yami had left.

He stepped into the hallway. A smokey, heady scent drifted on dusty wisps through the stone corridor. Incense. He stood a moment, mesmerized by the unfurling curls of smoke. He followed them, the gray ribbons that trailed like slow caresses along the air. Soft candlelight slanted through a doorway. He approached slowly from close to the wall.

Candles were scattered about the room. Their small flames danced, the dozens of faint lights worked in tandem to cast the walls in an orange glow. Kneeling upon the stone floor, Yami. To either side of him, smoke curled up from two bowls.

He was shirtless. His pale back gleamed in the warm pulse of the candles. Several scars, some white, some dark, marked his sides and scratched at his broad shoulders. Even at the nape of his neck, his dark hair was raised. Dark, loose-fitting trousers pooled along his calves and bared his slender feet.

He knelt before an altar pressed close to the wall. Amongst the scattered candles, statuettes stood solemn. But largest of them all rested center. A woman, feathered arms extended.

Ancient Egyptian gods and goddesses.

Yami was… _praying?!_

“I hope the clothes are to your liking.” The deep voice pierced the flame-laden silence. “I understand they are not as luxurious as what you are used to.” The pointed chin turned. Yami's sharp profile was outlined starkly by candlelight. A single gleaming violet eye assessed Kaiba.

“They're fine.” He'd worn much worse. “Ancient Egypt,” he stated. Much less a question and more of an answer.

“Yes.” Yami gracefully stood.

“You're _religious_.”

“... If you so label it, yes.”

“You're fucking ancient. Or one of those weird ethnic xenophiles.” Kaiba wasn't sure which was more believable, in the context of this impossible situation of his.

Yami laughed. “The former.”

Kaiba's eyes honed in to a dark vein climbing its way up that pale neck. He tore his gaze away, and curiously glanced down at the wrist that had fed him not so long ago.

It was spotless.

“How do you have scars?”

“Battle wounds. From before I was... turned.” Yami walked closer and gestured out the door. “Come, I was just finished.”

Kaiba's lips parted. He was just about to say something when pale fingers snapped, and all the candles flickered out as if blown by some great breath. “... Hn. And don't order me around. I am not some dog.”

“I never thought you were, Kaiba,” Yami replied. His bare feet padded softly across the floor.

“Hn.” Kaiba still found himself trailing after his captor. Blue eyes traced along a visible vein that stood out against the firm, pale muscle of Yami's tricep. A sharp pain echoed through him, and longing burned his tongue. Fuck… what was fucking wrong with him?

Yami led the way back to the study. He ambled to his desk.

Kaiba remained in the doorway. Hawkish, he watched the other man open a drawer. He pulled a slim, sleek, state-of-the-art laptop from within. The processors in that model were lightning fast, and it could crunch data at the speed of a supercomputer. Kaiba approved.

But his eyes were stolen away. Every time Yami shifted, Kaiba's focus shifted to the marbling of blood vessels beneath that pale skin. He moved slowly around the edge of the room. A tilt of the head; a flash of a jugular vein. His arm bending, elbow on the desk; the dark line on his tricep bulged. Chin on his knuckles; a glimpse of spider webbing upon his wrist. The ache returned, vengeful and hungry, and a low growl rumbled at the bottom of his lungs.

When Kaiba skulked his way to the shadows of one of the numerous bookshelves, he froze with horrible realization.

He was… _prowling_. Stalking. _Hunting_.

Vertigo lapped at his senses, and he slumped against the bookshelf. “F-Fuck…” He pressed a shaking palm to his forehead.

Yami glanced up, purple eyes soft, purple eyes understanding. “Come, sit, Seto.”

Kaiba's muddled, horrified brain did not register the change in address. But that deep voice called in more ways than one, and his feet dragged him to stand before his captor. He collapsed into the chair, that same one from hours earlier. Perhaps it was just in his head, but he could swear that he still smelt the blood from earlier. It made his gums ache dully.

“There are many things you have yet to get used to. Some may take years, decades. The _need_ for blood -- your primal desire for it, so strong that even your subconscious yearns for it, that your behavior changes without your consent -- will not so easily be tempered. It is why I have you here with me, instead of allowing you to roam free amongst the unknowing populace of mortals. You are most predictable, and therefore dangerous, in your current state. _No one_ is safe from your hunger.” The solemn resonance of Yami's voice said things unspoken. The experience, the sadness.

Kaiba's eyebrows ticked. “Is this why you won't let me go home?”

“Yes. Mokuba would not be safe in your presence.”

Kaiba snarled with outrage. “I would _never_ hurt Mokuba!”

Yami tilted his head to the side in a half-nod. “Perhaps not intentionally.” His voice lowered, dangerous, sharp. “But, imagine yourself in his presence. You can _hear_ his heart beating. You can _smell_ how hot his blood pumps. He's so temptingly close to your grasp. His skin is like paper in comparison to your fangs.”

Kaiba shuddered, wretched and appetitive.

“Maybe you can take _just a little_. Just a little blood won't hurt him, will it? He loves you. He would be more than willing to give you _just a little blood_. But then you taste it. It is hot on your tongue. That warmth is seductive, and you think, _just a little more_. He would not mind _just a little more._ More. More. _More_ , it is not enough. It is _never_ enough. _Just a little blood, just a little more_ becomes a dead, drained brother, and you the one who made him so.”

“Why did you do this to me?” Kaiba asked, voice fragile and rough.

Empathy lined that sharp, pale face. “It was the best of so many worse options.”

“In _your_ opinion! You should've let me die!” he hissed.

“I will give you more time. In the next few months, if you decide that this life isn't worth living, I will kill you if you so desire,” Yami replied. His expression was unwavering. It was a promise. “At least with this route, you can choose death, instead of having it foisted upon you.” Yami got up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand before him. “I have taken it as my responsibility to teach you restraint. To ensure you can _function_ amongst the humans that you hold dear.” With cold, tender fingertips, he tipped Kaiba's chin up. “It would reflect poorly upon me if I let you suffer through unfettered bloodlust.”

Kaiba stared up at Yami. He was too submerged in emotion to draw away from the other's touch as he normally might. “Will I… always be so… thirsty? All the time? Like I am now?”

Yami shook his head. His blond bangs swayed with the motion. “You are so thirsty because you have had only small drinks to tide you over. My wounds close before I can sate you. It will be so until you are ready to bite me, to willingly feed from me.”

A shiver laced up Kaiba's spine. His gums ached at the thought of it. The part of his psyche that rejected this reeled in protest. _No, you will not encourage this, you will not bite this freak_. But slowly, the others were overwhelming it. In the context of this situation, it was only logical that he drink his fill… right? “Bite you…” he echoed.

Yami's fingers shifted from Kaiba's chin to tap on his lips. “Open your mouth. Let me see your teeth.”

Kaiba's brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I need to see if your fangs are developed enough for efficient feeding. It would be most gruesome if I allowed you to simply gnaw on me with relatively human teeth.”

Kaiba snorted briefly before he curled his top lip to show his teeth. Yami hummed. His finger traced over an elongated canine, pushed a bit on the tip. It was sharp enough to prick his skin.

“Now, this is purely for my curiosity, but could you extend your tongue for me?”

Kaiba pulled back, though his tongue reflexively swiped up the little spot of blood on his tooth. “No.”

“Do you wish to feed?” Yami inquired and proffered his wrist.

Kaiba eyed it speculatively. Hesitantly, he wrapped his fingers around the base of Yami's palm. Instinctively, he nuzzled the cold flesh. His blue eyes cut up to Yami. “How the fuck do I even do this?” His voice was gritty and gravelly.

“Just bite me.”

His lips parted, and a shudder wracked him when he dragged his lengthening fangs over the pallid skin. His gums ached, his stomach wrenched in his belly. He bit down. His fangs easily punctured.

“Pull out a little. It will make the blood flow more smoothly,” Yami intoned. Kaiba didn't notice at the time, but the tone was a little breathier than usual.

Kaiba followed directions. Indeed, more cold fluid filled his mouth.

“Seal your lips against my skin, so it won't get everywhere.”

Kaiba could barely hear his voice anymore. His world revolved around the bitter taste blossoming on his palette. He swallowed, then sucked, siphoned that crimson nectar from the weeping flesh. One hand clenched around Yami's slender fingers. The other clutched his forearm. A hand carded through his hair.

When the blood flow slowed down, his jaw clenched to re-open the wound. He growled, eyes closed tight, tongue rolling in his mouth. He swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed. Time became a triviality. His insides shivered at being sated.

A hand nudged at his forehead, tried to push him off.

His jaws clenched tight, and he growled possessively. No, no, it wasn't enough. He needed more.

“Kaiba, release me.”

He heard the words, but his frenzied mind couldn't recognize their meaning.

“Kaiba!”

The wrist in his mouth suddenly jerked forward, gagging him, as a strong hand wrenched into the hair at the back of his neck. Yami yanked him back and ripped his arm free of Kaiba's grasp. Kaiba panted, his breaths angry growls that faded into despondent whimpers. His eyes lingered on the bloody wrist.

Yami loomed above him with stern eyes. “That is the reason why you cannot be around humans. You have much to learn.”

Kaiba slumped back against the chair. It stung to admit it, but Yami was right.

He couldn't function like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bird Yami turned into was a black-crowned night-heron, a nocturnal waterfowl known for its cries at night. It is native to Egypt, among many other places. Anywho, hoped you enjoyed this chapter. It's the longest yet, if only by 400 words. I promise the chapters will get longer as I get into the swing of things. ALSO, this chapter marks the end of the beginning.
> 
> Sooo… thanks for tagging along so far!


	6. Poisoned Chalice

The little woman had been so easy to hunt. She fell into his arms like some broken marionette, and her blood had been made bold by alcohol.

Rex licked her neck clean and cast her to the side. She was still alive. Hopefully she wouldn't remember anything tomorrow. He lifted the edge of his hat up and adjusted his two-toned hair.

A well-deserved _snack break_ , he thought with a smarmy grin. He stalked from the alleyway. The brash lights of the seedy bar he'd just prowled washed sickly onto him. He'd just have to go back down the streets a couple of blocks to continue his thankless work.

A throat cleared behind him. He whirled.

He saw, even with his vampiric vision, only the sharp silhouette of the man before him. Hair spiked up like a crown, hands slipped confidently into the pockets of tight pants.

Shit.

Cover blown.

“Raptor,” a deep voice intoned. Crimson eyes blinked slowly.

He shuddered. He should have known. Wherever shadows cast, the Lord of Darkness followed, or so it was said.

 _Yami…_ the boogieman of the Underworld.

“Uh…” he stumbled.

“Surprised to see me? You shouldn't be. You were not exactly _subtle_ in your surveillance of my abode.”

Rex chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. The aftereffects of his feeding started to take their toll; each movement was stiff. “Just… following orders.”

“Whose orders, Jiangshe?” The crimson eyes glowed faintly. “Who requires you to supervise me? Is it Pegasus? He is your master, is he not?” The shadows fluttered, the lights flickered.

Rex leaned against the wall. Dammit. He thought he'd get to his post before the paralysis set in. “I may work under Pegasus now, but he is _not_ my master.”

A hum. The sound rippled through the darkness itself, like a languid fingertip disturbing a pond. Rex shuddered.

“Paradius.” It was not a question, nor a statement. It was a confirmation thought aloud. “What is it that you seek?”

Rex's body tensed horribly. So strained he could barely part his lips to speak through clenched teeth. “I… I don't know. Just following orders.”

“Ah, Jiangshe paralysis,” Yami purred. “No matter how much you need it, it seems the blood does not cooperate with you, hmm? Too bad the myths are not true. You cannot just _hop_ your stiffness away.” Suddenly, he rushed upon Rex. Shadows flared and snarled, and, like wicked lightning, Yami shoved Rex hard against the wall. Crimson eyes streaked against black, and a clawed, sable hand wrapped around a tensed throat. Rex drowned in the darkness. “You tell your _superiors_ that I do not take too kindly to being _stalked_. _Leave me be or suffer the consequences.”_

With a loud _bang_! the alley door to the bar slammed open. Rex fell, much like a chopped tree, to the ground.

Swift as he came, Yami was gone.

* * *

“Check.”

“Hn.”

“Check.”

“ _Hn_.”

“... Checkmate.”

Yami's pieces were spread across the board in a delicate trap, one so insidious Kaiba had not noticed until he was tangled in its snare.

“How the _fuck_ did you just do that?” he snarled.

Yami chuckled. “With great wisdom and finesse.”

“No one has _ever_ beaten me in chess.” Kaiba slammed a fist on the table.

Yami lounged regally in his chair, his chin on his knuckles and a smug grin on his lips. “I have been playing chess since long before your great-great-great-grandparents’ great-great-great-grandparents were even conceived.”

“Shut the fuck up. You were probably using your damn shadow tricks, you sneaky bastard!”

Yami chuckled again. “I suppose my ‘shadow tricks’ don't exist unless it suits your cause, Kaiba?”

Kaiba hissed. “Go _fuck_ yourself.”

“I do say, your soreness is most charming,” Yami purred, his voice thick with amusement.

“I _will_ flip this damn table if you don't shut up.”

“Truly, you wear defeat like a crown, Kaiba. It suits you.”

Kaiba bolted up from his seat. The table rocked. Yami steadied it with a gentle nudge of his toe. “It was just a fluke! I _will_ get you next time, Yami!” He stalked off.

Yami chuckled.

Kaiba glared over his shoulder as he left the room.

“You will not be able to avoid me, Kaiba,” he called.

“I sure as hell can try!”

Yami threw his head back and laughed heartily. “You certainly can!” Kaiba grumbled a few more words Yami pretended not to hear. A fond smile still curling his lips, he gathered up the ornate, hand-carved pieces and deftly placed them back into their velvet-lined box. The chess board, finely-tanned leather, served as the lid.

The past days went by more smoothly than Yami had first assumed. Kaiba was adaptive as any, _more_ than any, and he fell into their routine with robotic fluidity. He fed with little fret, though he would stretch the times between out of sheer stubborn resistance to request _anything_ of Yami. Surely, no man would be quite as successful as Seto Kaiba if he couldn't contort himself to whatever the raging tempest of life decided to hurl at him.

It was promising.

Perhaps it was time to put Kaiba to the test…

He stood, replaced the box back on its shelf, and sat behind his desk. He passed a hand over a drawer. The lock clicked. He pulled out the laptop. The glowing, crisp images and text never ceased to amaze him.

With a few clicks, he opened a fresh email.

_Subject: A Favor_

_Hello, old friend._

_I have a favor to ask of you. I would say it could be dangerous, but I will not let any harm fall to you. If you are interested, please respond promptly._

_Wishing you peace in the twilight,_

_\-- Yugi_

* * *

Kaiba's stomach ached. He glared down at the book in his hands. The words blurred together. He wasn't really reading it. He couldn't stop reeling over his loss. That chuckle rang through his head. His fingers tightened on the book's spine.

He had been perusing the backmost shelves in Yami's study when he had found them.

Stacks, stacks, _stacks_ of _games_. Board games, card games, all manner between. Some were new, some old, some downright _ancient_ (bronze age ancient).  Yami was quite the collector. Many of them remained seemingly untouched. After all, he didn't seem to have may visitors with which to play.

Kaiba found the chess board, and eagerly challenged Yami to a game. He'd thought for sure he would win. Why wouldn't he? Kaiba _always won_. The only one who ever came close was Mokuba. But Mokuba had learned chess through trial-by-fire; all his skills he gained from facing Seto across the board.

Kaiba ground his molars together. A growl rumbled in his chest. When was it too soon to challenge Yami to another game?

His head throbbed. He tilted back against the chair and closed his eyes.

The length between… _meals_ … was growing longer. (Good. That way he could deal with Yami's smug face less.) But they still weren't anywhere near his satisfaction.

He could smell it on Yami sometimes. Fresh blood. _Human_ blood. That crimson aroma made him wild with hunger upon each encounter. Kaiba swore he could taste it from Yami when he fed during such occasions.

The thoughts twisted the figurative knife. His gums ached, and he licked his teeth to feel the lengthening fangs.

He rubbed his forehead. He wasn't going to be able to resist his hunger as he usually did. Not with how… _riled_ he was.

He stood. He followed Yami's scent, rock and incense, and burst into another room, a lounge. Yami was settled into the cradle of a flared Victorian settee, a book held in one hand, the other arm crossed behind his head.

“Feeding from your wrist is awkward. For both of us.”

Yami lowered his book a tad bit. Violet eyes stared at Kaiba over the edge. The amusement shining in them made Kaiba snarl. “I suppose.”

“Why not your neck?”

Yami set his book onto his lap. “The flow there is stronger. Harder to handle. And… biting the neck of a another vampire has implications of intimacy that I was sure you wouldn't want.”

“ _What_?”

“Close friends, comrades, _lovers_ , even.”

Despite himself, Kaiba felt cold flood his cheeks in a blush.

“You can try it, if you wish,” Yami murmured. His deft fingers undid the top buttons of his shirt. “It would be a telling test of your restraint.” Kaiba could only watch Yami come closer. Those dark veins decorated that pale flesh like marble. There were scars on that body, but his neck was pristine.

Yami came close. The dusty warmth of incense washed Kaiba's senses. Kaiba stood, frozen. He couldn't tell if it were hesitation or some other thing that kept him pinned in place.

Yami's arm looped around his neck and lightly tugged him down. Slender fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his skull.

“Go ahead. Follow your instincts, Seto.” The deep whisper fanned, cool, against his collarbone, tickled his nerves.

Blue locked with purple. Kaiba moved, ducked a little lower. Yami's lithe arms embraced him. His own hand touched the back of Yami's head, the nape of his neck. His hair was surprising coarse and stiff there. But Kaiba's long fingers easily threaded through it. With a gentle grip, he titled Yami's head to the side. Kaiba nuzzled the flesh he bared.

 _Intimate_. It definitely made sense. The wrist was impersonal.

This was the exact opposite.

The thought gave him pause. But the coolness against his nose and lips, the scent, Yami's scent, the scent he associated with the comfort of feeding, had an irresistible allure. His lips parted. His tongue flicked out to trace a dark vein. A tremble rippled through Yami. He sighed a little and moved closer. Their chests brushed.

Kaiba’s other hand raised to grip Yami's waist, to still him. Lean muscle beneath his palm.

The faces of his fangs brushed against skin. He adjusted.

He bit down.

Yami's breath caught, his hand tightened in Kaiba's hair.

The flow _was_ stronger. The blood pooled, bitter and cool in his mouth. He could _feel_ Yami breathing. His fangs tingled with each inhale, each exhale. He swallowed, then sucked. Yami arched against him, clawed a little at his back. Kaiba's hands tightened, and he tugged on Yami, closer, better access. A soft huff left Yami's lungs.

The flow was too much. Kaiba's knees wobbled. He sank slowly, held Yami tight to him. He could go no lower at such a pace, so his knees thumped hard against the floor. Kaiba growled and clenched his jaw a moment. Yami gasped.

Suddenly, the blood spiked warm, _hot._ Yami tugged the hair clenched in his hands, and Kaiba willingly disengaged. With a trembling breath, his tongue traced the little lines of dark blood back to the closing puncture wounds.

Yes, hot. He hadn't been imagining it.

His hand slowly petted Yami's heaving waist. Yami was gasping, panting.

Yami's slender legs were straddling his.

Kaiba pulled back hastily. Yami crawled backwards. Despite his heavy breathing, he was composed.

“What the hell was that?” Kaiba growled.

“A vampire's bite can have many effects,” Yami said, breathy. “One of them can be pleasurable.”

Kaiba's face flashed cold. “That doesn't answer my question.”

“Just like a human's, a vampire's body temperature increases during arousal, though to a much greater degree. It's to mimic life when… _engaged_ so as not to rouse suspicion from human partners.”

“You were _aroused?_ ”

“You bit me rather hard, Seto.”

“Well, I didn't know any better!” Kaiba hissed.

“It's fine. You are still learning.” Yami leaned back on his palms, his head tilted back. He was still catching his breath.

Kaiba dared to finally look at him again. That pale neck, the defined collarbones. The dip of the sternum between pectoral muscles. All peeking from that partially parted black shirt.

He hastily looked away.

Yami hummed, took a deep breath, rolled his head forward. “I have something to tell you."

“What?” Kaiba snapped.

“We will have a human guest tomorrow night.”

“Why?”

“I want to test your restraint around humans.”

Kaiba remained silent. He'd been able to pull away from Yami on his own (even when feeding from his neck), but a human…

“You will not be feeding from her. Just spending time in her presence.”

“Her?”

“Yes. She is a friend of mine. She should be about your age.”

A young, beautiful human woman. Kaiba's lip curled into a snarl, but he quickly hid it. Sharp words bubbled in the back of his mind. He swallowed. Yami's taste lingered in his mouth. “I'm surprised you even have friends.”

Yami chuckled. “Ah, the pot calling the kettle black.”

“At least I have my brother.”

“I feel as though your position as his caretaker makes him obligated to tolerate you.”

“And you aren't?”

“Mmm, I am, but I am much too fond of you to label it as simple ‘tolerance.’” Kaiba growled and looked away. Yami laughed. “I suppose you are still sore about our game earlier. Or, I should say, your defeat.”

“It will be the only one, Yami.”

“So you say. Are you a man of your word, Seto Kaiba?”

He smirked. “I always am.”

* * *

Pegasus had his hands neatly entwined on his lap. “Rex Raptor reported back. Yami knows we are watching.”

Heterochromatic eyes blinked. “Does he know why?”

“I don't know. It seems as though he doesn't. It brings into question whether or not he truly has it. We don't know for certain. We could be wasting precious time and resources, for all we know.”

“Oh, I can assure you ‘Yami’ has the Pendant,” a rough voice interjected. The two turned to the man sprawled on the couch. His wild white hair spilled over the armrest. A large golden ring dangled from his necklace. “It has never left his possession since its creation.”

“And how do you know this? How do we know we can even trust you?” Pegasus hissed.

The man sat up, swung his legs back over the sofa, and put his elbows on his knees. “Look, _I_ am the only way you are going to get all seven items. _I_ am the only way you will be able to complete the ritual… And _I_ am the only way you will be able to get rid of this ‘Yami’ of which you speak. You _will_ listen to every word that passes my lips, or you can kiss your last hope goodbye.” He turned, a savage smirk on his face. “Isn't that right, _Dartz_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seto’s way of apologizing…
> 
> WELL, I DIDN’T KNOW ANY BETTER! 
> 
> Cracks me up… everytime I proof this...


	7. Trial By Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be known that Seto is twenty-two. Seto is six-foot, one inch in canon (186 cm). HOWEVER, men do not stop growing until they are like 25 (the bastards. They are hoarding all of the tallness for themselves!). So he is much taller now. Probably about six-six. Atem/Yami is not the same age as he was in canon, either. I’d put him at about twenty. So he is also taller than his canon height of 5 foot (153 cm. Hehe he’s so short). Probably about 5’4”.

White armor gleamed like pearls beneath the moonlight. The long sword flashed, a silver fang of a white dragon. Blue eyes glared.

“Yami.”

His shoulders shook.

An ornate cape billowed like wings.

“Yami! Wake the hell up!”

He blinked. Blue eyes loomed above him. “Rosenkreuz…”

The furrowing of a brow. “Rosenkreuz…? Who the hell is that?” Kaiba snapped.

Yami shook his head, palm to his forehead. “Seto. Mmm… sleep comes so scarce to me. But the dreams want to make up for lost time.” Kaiba frowned. Yami sat up on the settee lounge. He blinked at the other man. “What time is it?” _What year is it?_

“Seven-fifteen. Night.”

Yami hummed sleepily. “She will be here soon.”

“I figured. That’s why I woke you up.”

“Thank you.” He stood and stretched languidly.

Kaiba thought of some sleek, moon-drenched panther. “What am I to expect tonight?”

“She will arrive. We will entertain her, as any good hosts would.” Yami padded from the room. Kaiba strode after him.

“ _Entertain_ her. What does that even entail?” Kaiba hissed.

Yami waved a hand dismissively. “Give her food and beverage. Chat. Perhaps play a few games.”

Kaiba growled, though something in him turned over in amusement. Yami probably wanted to finally open one of those games that required more than two players. “This sounds horrible.”

“ _This horrible thing_ could be what grants you access to Mokuba.” Yami waved a hand over the knob of a locked door in the hallway. It was a door Kaiba never walked through, or even saw into. It was a bedroom. It was decorated with rich red fabrics and dark wood. The cloying dusty scent of incense danced on the air. Yami’s room.

Kaiba paused. “What?”

Yami glanced over his shoulder, a slender eyebrow raised. “Yes. If you can control yourself around her, you should be ready to see your brother, finally.” He opened the wardrobe. “Now, you can stay and watch if you truly desire it, but I am going to change my clothes,” his deep voice purred teasingly.

It felt like someone hit Kaiba in the face with a snowball. He slammed the door shut (hard enough that the walls and floor shook) and stomped away. “Fucking freak.”

Seeing Mokuba. It sounded unreal.

The last time he had seen Mokuba, Seto had been _human_. _Alive._

The paradigm has shifted. As much as it pained and horrified him to realize it, he was not the big brother Mokuba once knew anymore. Seto couldn’t sit at the table and eat and chat with him like he used to. Seto wasn’t sure if he could stomach seeing Mokuba like this. The moment in the study haunted him, when he stalked Yami like a predator. What if he saw Mokuba, and thought of him only as _prey?_

But a hole was torn into Seto. He missed his little brother so terribly. Mokuba’s laugh echoed in Seto’s dreams. Dreams of after-dinner chess games, dreams of clutching the passenger door with white knuckles, Mokuba at the wheel. Visions of Mokuba turning the world right-side-down in search of his big brother.

He’d bear it. For Mokuba. Come hell or high water, Seto would see him again.

Down the hall, Yami’s door opened. Kaiba turned. His brows furrowed.

The ancient vampire was wearing a black tank top ( _a damn wife-beater_ , for all intents and purposes) and some blue jeans.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Kaiba snapped.

A dark brow winged up. “Casual clothing.”

“You look like an idiot.” Button-ups and black pants suited him far better than that… that… _garbage_.

“I did not realize that my choices in wardrobe had to pass a test of your satisfaction, Seto Kaiba,” Yami replied, and he turned away to walk down the other end of the hall.

“That’s _not_ what I meant, and you know it,” Kaiba growled. He stalked down the hallway after him.

“Do I?” Yami turned into the kitchen.

During his stay, Kaiba realized many things about Yami’s abode. One, most of the space went unused. Such as the actual nave, the place of worship. Two, the convent or abbey, where nuns or priests or whoever lived there during the church’s time, was actually where Yami lived. There were truly countless rooms. Some hallways were permanently sealed off. By prior inhabitants or Yami himself, Kaiba did not know. And he didn’t bother to ask.

But, what surprised him the most was that Yami actually maintained a fully-functional kitchen, despite not requiring food that had to be cooked in it.

“The aesthetics please me, the thought of human meals,” Yami had said, somehow wistful.

It reminded Seto of when Mokuba began hanging those posters of “bombshell” models on the walls in his room. Something he could look at, admire, but never have.

Kaiba leaned against the counter, his arms crossed.

In fact, seeing Yami in his kitchen was… dichotomous. He was graceful and regal as ever (even in those ridiculous clothes), but it really seemed like he was photoshopped into the image or something.

Yami stretched up to open a cupboard. His shirt clung tight to his back. A scar peeked over the neckline, curled near the muscle at that ambiguous area where neck and shoulder meet.

Kaiba looked away, but his curiosity drew him back.

A tea kettle sat on the highest shelves, where Yami physically couldn’t reach. Kaiba stepped forward. Yami reached his hand out, fingers splayed expectantly. The kettle slid forward, ground a bit against the wood of the shelf, and fell into Yami’s hand.

Damn shadow tricks.

Next came a box of tea, a few mugs. Anything Yami couldn’t reach was magicked into his hands.

“Why are you so damn short?” Kaiba asked, a bit mocking and smug.

Yami glanced over his shoulder. “I was almost average height in my era. People got taller through the millennia. It is not my fault that I am not a damn giant like you are. You are ridiculously tall.”

Kaiba snorted. Yami swearing was humorous. Like a stuffy old aristocrat trying to sound intimidating by being crude. “I’m only six-six.” Still smug.

“Little victories, Kaiba. You are a petty man.”

“I wouldn’t call it a _little_ victory, Yami.”

Yami grunted. He turned to face Kaiba. “She'll be here within the next ten minutes or so. I want to discuss a few things with you beforehand.” His arms crossed. His biceps twitched. Kaiba gulped. “If at any point you feel overwhelmed, _tell me_. Tell me _immediately_. However, keep in mind that I will not allow any harm to befall either of you. Try to spend as much time around her as you can, but know that you may leave the room if you feel you must.”

“Hn.”

“Do not worry about keeping your vampiric nature clandestine. She knows, both about us and about what she is here to do.”

“So humans do know about vampires? Or some, at least.”

“A very small number of well-trusted individuals, yes,” Yami tilted his head to the side in a half-nod. “But the general population is ignorant of our existence.”

“Why haven't vampires just… I don't know, _conquered_ the humans yet?” Kaiba asked sharply.

Violet eyes narrowed. “I have kept it from being so.” Purple flared to crimson. “If at any moment I realize that you will abuse this power, I will kill you. And you will not come back this time.” The shadows of the kitchen fluttered with each syllable, and the rumble of Yami's voice made the lights flicker.

Kaiba shuddered. A black beast flashed in his mind. “I was just asking for the sake of argument. Not like I actually want to do it myself.”

Red cooled back to violet. “Good.” His head tilted. He was listening. “She's here.”

Kaiba paused, eyes averted to the ceiling. He concentrated on his hearing. Soft, light steps. The door leading to the abbey, not the nave. A playful knock, and she swung the door open.

He looked back to Yami.

“What the _fuck_?”

Those angular eyes were soft, rounded. Big, doleful, deer eyes. His pale face was softer, sweeter, an innocent boy. He was thinner, less firmly built. Even his demeanor changed. Less confident, he _seemed_ smaller, shorter, though Kaiba could tell by comparing him to cupboard that it was just a trick of the eye.

Those big purple eyes blinked at him

“What. The. _Fuck!”_ Kaiba growled, stumbled back and bumped himself hard on the counter. “What the hell did you do to yourself?!”

“I shapeshifted a little.”

 _Even his voice_!

It was higher, boyish.

“Jesus Christ! A _little_?! You're a different fucking person!” Kaiba damn near yelled. “Why? Why did you change?”

The… boy before him shrugged. “She knows me as Yugi Muto, a human. She finds my true form discomfiting.”

Incredulous, Kaiba stared at him. “So you do this every time you go out?”

Those eyebrows, more curved and less stern, furrowed. “No. Just for certain human acquaintances.”

“ _Why_?”

“Immersion.”

“Yugi! Is anybody home?” a feminine voice called.

Kaiba froze. He recognized that voice. But he couldn't remember a face.

“Just a minute!” Yami… Yugi… _Yami_ called back. He looked back to Kaiba. “Are you done with this for now? You can reel in shock later.”

“One question, first.”

“Hurry. We are being quite rude to our guest.”

“How far does this shapeshifting go?”

Yami blinked and tilted his head to the side. Normally, the motion seemed pensive. Now, it emanated a disturbing amount of _innocence_. “I can turn into animals.”

Kaiba’s blue eyes widened. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No. I do not kid about these matters. Let us go.” Yami strode from the room. His gait lacked the confidence of usual, but still he drifted over the floor with ethereal elegance.

Kaiba followed, though still a tad shell-shocked.

Yami walked down the hall and to a small foyer where the side entrance resided (Kaiba originally thought it was just a door to another room; it looked just like all the others). He could hear a human heart beating, steady, _thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump._ It was a strange sound, deliciously foreign.

She was a young woman, chin-length brown hair, big blue doe eyes, and a shapely figure.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Tea.”

Kaiba froze. “ _Tea_?”

The young woman’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Seto Kaiba?”

Yami looked between them. His eyebrows winged up. “You two know each other?”

Tea dazedly blinked at him. “Yeah… We… went to high school together.”

Yami chuckled… no… _giggled_. “It never fails to amaze me how small the world really is.”

Tea looked back to Kaiba and smiled sheepishly. “I’d say that life after graduation has treated you well, but I _never_ thought we’d ever see each other again, much less under these circumstances.”

Kaiba was barely listening.

Yami was right. He could _smell_ how hot her blood was. Crimson and copper, the scent undulated in pace with her pulse. He grit his teeth, felt his fangs lengthen.

“I… can say the same.”

 _Holy fuck_ , he could see the arteries in her neck flutter in time with her pulse. A sharp ache.

He could feel Yami’s gaze on him. Those violet eyes reeled him back in.

Tea was talking to Yami. “Even when you email, you are still so weirdly cryptic! I’m surprised you didn’t just send me a typed note.”

“You didn’t like it the last time I did that.”

“I didn’t mind that note itself. What I did mind was the fact that you left it _in my bedroom_. Why couldn’t you just leave it in the mailbox like a normal human being?!” she huffed, less exasperated and more fond.

Yami shrugged. It was the second time Kaiba saw him do it so far. Apparently, as “Yugi,” even his mannerisms were different. “I didn’t realize it would upset you so much.”

“It’s _creepy!_ ”

“Duly noted.”

The pair drifted toward the kitchen, slowly but surely, and Kaiba quietly followed behind.

As he walked behind them, almost imperceptibly, his pace began to match Tea’s. He stepped when she did, copied her gait. If anyone listened, it would only sound like two people walking, Yami and Tea.

His blood flashed colder in horror.

Like some alleyway predator… He shuddered, his intake sharp.

Yami glanced over his shoulder, round purple eyes blinking softly. _Calm down._

Kaiba paused in the hallway, leaned against the stone brick of the wall. With a hand on the small of her back, Yami led Tea into the kitchen. Kaiba panted, gulped around his elongated canines. He gripped his forehead, his knuckles white.

“Just a moment, Tea. Would you mind starting the tea for me?” Yami’s voice echoed as if through water.

“Yeah! I wouldn’t mind at all,” she responded with that over-the-top sincerity Kaiba had _always_ loathed with a passion.

Cold hands gripped Kaiba’s clammy cheeks. “Seto, look at me.” Deep, commanding.

Kaiba obeyed. Angular violet eyes. He felt himself slumping into Yami’s hold.

“Is this too much for you?” Yami asked. “I need you to be honest with me.”

Pride reared its ugly head. _Yes, I am fine, let go of me_ , but…

… he could trust Yami.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, voice hoarse and broken on some breaths.

Thumbs tenderly swiped over his cheekbones. “Do you need to feed right now?”

Did he? Was this hunger merely a reaction to a human’s presence, or could the sensations be genuine appetite?

“Would… Would it help if I did?” Kaiba asked.

Tea poked her head around the door. Kaiba was very nearly curled over Yugi’s smaller form, his face cradled in Yugi’s small hands. She swallowed her squeak of embarrassment and ducked back into the kitchen, her face ablaze.

Yami had sensed their spectator but gave no outward sign of it. “I do not know. Every vampire has a different reaction to humans for the first time.”

“I… I don’t want to be like this around Mokuba.”

Yami shook his head slowly, his violet eyes locked onto ultramarine. “I would never let that happen, Seto.”

Kaiba sank lower. Their foreheads pressed together. The cold contact soothed him. The breathless panic faded. He had to do this. He had to do it for Mokuba. He abruptly straightened. Yami’s arms fell to his side.

“C’mon, _Yugi_. We’ve got a guest to _entertain_.”

* * *

Seto Kaiba had been through many stressful situations in his life. Being an orphan, having an adoptive father like Gozaburo, raising Mokuba after said father’s death, and running a company basically on his own produced endless taxing scenarios. But nothing tried his endurance quite like this trial. Thankfully, Yami proffered many distractions; tea as a vampire was _disgusting_ (even more so than before; Kaiba very nearly spit it out, but the only thing that stopped him from doing so was seeing Yami delicately sip it as if it were fine wine), and Yami was a tactical master at not only chess, but contemporary board games.

“And… Yugi gets the ‘longest route’ and ‘globetrotter’ bonuses, and, at two-hundred-eighty-seven points, is the winner of this round,” Tea announced after adding up everyone scores.

Kaiba swiped all of the train cars off the board petulantly. Some of them fell to the floor. “This is bullshit!”

“He’s a sore loser,” _Yugi_ said to Tea.

Tea nodded with lifted eyebrows. “I remember as much from high school.”

Kaiba jabbed an irate finger at her. “I _never_ lost anything during high school.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“No, I didn’t! Your memory is shot, you old hag!”

She leaned back in her chair. “If I remember correctly, you’re actually a year older than me, Kaiba. Anyways, what about that one baseball game against the staff?”

Kaiba scoffed. “I do not count _sports_.”

“Well, you certainly _acted_ like it was a big deal at the time.”

Kaiba grumbled.

Tea giggled a little.

Yami, his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, looked between the two. His eyes glinted with amusement.

In the resulting silence, Tea’s heart was far too loud, far too… tempting…

Kaiba hurriedly placed all of the game pieces and cards back into their box. Wordlessly, he took the box and left. When he set it back on the shelf in the study, he leaned his forehead against the cool wood. Old paper and faded ink washed the crimson and copper from his lungs. When his fangs receded back to normal length, and the ache in his gut faded into emptiness, he walked slowly back to the kitchen.

“You seem pretty determined about this,” Tea said softly. Her words were but a low whisper. But not quite enough. Kaiba paused in the hallway.

“It’s… cruel to keep him locked up in this place. He’s been cooped up here for two weeks now. I don’t savor caging him like a rabid dog, but it’s necessary.” Even with that strange voice, the rawness echoed through his words. He paused a minute.  “Though I have to admit, he is the most swiftly developing fledging I have ever encountered. His self-discipline is iron strong. Any other and I would not have thought you safe, Tea.”

“I can’t imagine him _tolerating_ any sort of dependence upon you,” Tea remarked.

“He just barely does,” Yami said with wry amusement. “Sometimes getting him to feed is like pulling teeth from a crocodile.”

Tea laughed, and their conversation meandered into mundane topics about her life.

Kaiba leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

* * *

The antique grandfather clock in the study rang its solemn toll of midnight. The deep rings resonating through the stone brick of the walls around them. Tea sighed, stood. “Well, boys, I know you probably stay up all night, but I have work tomorrow. I should get going.”

Yami nodded. “Understandable.”

They walked her to the door.

“Thank you,” Yami said, clasped her hands in his own before he wrapped her in a warm hug. Her slight, pale arms stood out against the black of his shirt.

Acid bubbled in the back of Kaiba’s throat.

“Of course! Anything, anytime, okay, Yugi? Be sure to email me more often, all right?” She patted his back, and, when they separated, she pecked that pale cheek. She turned to Kaiba. “I’m sorry that these aren’t the best circumstances, but I’m glad to know that you’re okay, Kaiba.”

“Hn.” The tip of his tongue burned.

Yami looked at him. Though they were still the soft, warm eyes of _Yugi_ , a hard sternness lurked. “I’m about to ask something of you that I know you will not want to do.”

Kaiba stiffened.

“Embrace her, Seto.” The firm tone brooked no protest.

Protest Kaiba did. He drew back a few steps. “No! Why the hell should I do _that_?!” he hissed.

Yami’s brows furrowed. “Do you not think that Mokuba will throw himself into your arms upon first laying his eyes on you again?”

Kaiba sucked a breath in through clenched teeth. Mokuba most certainly would.

“You need to do this,” Yami said, “if you want to see him any time soon. I don’t want to hold this above your head, Seto, but would you rather hurt him?”

Kaiba’s face flushed cold with shame and frustration.

He edged closer to Tea. She remained relax, calm. She beamed up at him. “I trust you, Seto.”

His molars ground together. His arms stiffly wrapped around him. Her cheek pressed against his collarbone.

Her heart thumped steadily in her chest. He could feel its beat through their clothing. Even through her skin, the scent of hot, fresh blood wafted up to him. His arms tightened reflexively, and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. She gasped sharply, and the sound pierced through his haze. He abruptly let go of her and hastily stepped back. Yami’s small hand petted his back soothingly. He allowed the contact.

“Be careful. The night has fangs, Tea.”

“I know, Yugi.”

She left. The door shut quietly behind her.

Kaiba whirled and lunged. Yami’s back thumped against the wall.

Angular eyes peered up at him.

Kaiba growled, yanked what little of Yami’s shirt was in the way away from his skin. He wrenched Yami’s head to the side with tense fingers in that coarse hair. His fangs sunk into Yami’s pliant neck, his jaws tight with unfettered hunger.

This time, he was far too lost in the thirst and the burning acid to pull away when that cold blood ran hot and shaking hands scrambled at his back and clenched in his hair.

“ _Se...to…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have a few more things to note.
> 
> IN REGARDS TO THE BEGINNING, I just couldn’t resist making a Duelist of the Roses reference. If you don’t know what I am talking about, you missed out on one of the best damn games for the PS2. I sunk an inordinate amount of time into that game. I also find it ironic to make Yugi the alter ego rather than Yami. How that came about will be explained in future chapters. There’s soooooo much backstory to delve into *shivers in excitement*


	8. Rats (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was split into two. That way I could actually get something out to you guys

Weevil crouched on the windowsill of the abandoned warehouse. “Do you ever even see him leave?”

Rex, leaned against the crumbling brick wall, shook his head. “Not often. At least, not in a _normal_ way.”

Weevil adjusted his glasses. He had perfect vision; he just liked the aesthetics. “What does that mean?”

Rex shrugged. “Pegasus and Dartz both mentioned that he can shapeshift. Sometimes I see a stork or something fly off of and land onto the belfry. And when it lands it doesn't leave for a very long time. And it always comes back. So I'm pretty sure it's him. Then the whole uber powerful shadow magic thing. So, he probably leaves a lot, but just escapes my attention. He _does_ know that I'm watching.”

Weevil's fingers tapped onto the brick. “I've heard he confronted you.”

Rex gulped and nodded. A clammy sweat collected on his brow. “Yeah.”

Weevil's beady green eyes stared at him, though the glare of moonlight off of lenses obscured them.

“It was just after I'd fed from some bimbo. He came out of nowhere.” He shuddered. He didn't care close his eyes, or those crimson ones would stare back. “Jesus, Weevil. He could've ripped my throat out right there.”

Weevil rolled a shoulder, sneered a grin. His fangs gleamed in the moonlight. “I don't think he's all that powerful.”

Rex's expression twisted with incredulity. “Weevil, you don't know what you're talking about.”

“Well, just think about it. He showed up right after you fed, right?”

“That's what I just said, moron.”

“He came right when _anyone_ could have beaten you.”

Rex's mouth opened, his eyebrows twisted with offense.

“It's the same thing with me. I understand the paralysis just as well as you do. Probably more,” Weevil argued. “Anyway, if he was so all-powerful, he could have confronted you at _any_ time he damn well pleased, right?”

Rex grit his teeth. “I guess, yeah.”

“So he picked after you fed for a reason, right?” Weevil smirked. “He picked your weakest moment. All of his power is just an illusion to keep the rest of us in line.”

“But the stories --” Those crimson eyes, the flickering of lights, the fluttering of shadow.

“Just that. _Stories_. He probably started spreading them himself. He just wants us all to be scared of him.” Weevil stared out at the silent church. “We'll show them. All of them. We'll have Lord of Darkness’ head on a pike, and his stupid pendant, too.”

* * *

The deep, warbling moan resonated through his head. It was his name, ragged, drawn. “ _Se...to…”_

He bolted upright in bed. Sweat slicked his skin, the sharp spike of heat faded into the unending cold. Each ragged breath tore into his lungs. Blue eyes clenched closed, as if sheer force could drive the echoing memory away.

He tore the sheet away and stormed to the wardrobe. Clothes in hand, he strode into the bathroom.

The hot water pounded into his back. The heat percolated beneath his flesh with every drop. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned his forearms against the tiled wall. A domino effect, all of his muscles unclenched and relaxed.

He imagined some somnolent reptile basking itself on a rock in the sun.

With great reluctance, he pulled himself away to scrub himself down.

His dream, the memory, became but a ripple in the sea of thought.

* * *

Kaiba easily drew her into his arms and, after a moment, pulled away. Tea smiled. The corner of his lip twitched up in response. Yami, in that innocent, boyish disguise of his, watched the interaction, pensive, pleased. Tea visited frequently, any time she was able. Two weeks and a few days had passed since her first visit.

Kaiba could keep composed around her. He rarely left the room to temper his thirst.

“I'm ready.”

Yami tapped a finger on his chin.

Latter that night, the musical pattering of keys filled the dim of the study.

* * *

Mokuba collapsed onto his bed. With a lazy hand, he pulled his long raven hair from its ponytail. The locks tumbled around him. He rolled onto his back, didn't care enough to tug his hair from under him. He groaned and loosened his tie.

High school, full-time. Running KaibaCorp, also full-time.

Worrying about Seto.

Full-time.

He tucked a hand under his pillow. Paper brushed his fingertips. The edges were worn. It was creased from being unfolded and re-folded innumerable times. He stared at the crisp text. His vision blurred. He set the paper to the side. His forearm draped over his eyes.

_Clack_

His breath stilled in his lungs.

Silence.

He exhaled. It wouldn't be the first time he mistakenly believed he had an avian visitor. The only reason he didn't think the first time was a dream was the letter in his hand.

_Clack clack clack_

He gasped, bolted upright.

Red eyes stared from behind glass.

He tripped over his own feet to get to the window. He whipped it open.

The bird delicately stepped inside. Red eyes stared at him. Paper was clasped in its bill. He shot his palm out. Red eyes blinked. It slowly lowered its head and parted its beak. Paper touched his skin, and he drew away to fumble the paper open.

_Dear Mokuba Kaiba,_

_Tomorrow night you will see Seto. He will arrive after sunset. Regretfully, he cannot stay, not yet. He will not be the same as he used to be. I hope someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me for what I have done to him. Know--_

The fluttering of wings.

Mokuba whipped his head up. “Wait!”

The elegant neck stretched and craned back around.

“Thank you.”

Red eyes blinked. The head bobbed, a throaty croak. Dark wings unfurled again, feathers fanning out, and the bird disappeared into the murky night.

_Know that it was the only way Seto could be returned to you at all._

_Wishing you peace in the twilight,_

_A friend_

* * *

“Seto.”

Cold fingers thrummed on his cheek.

“Seto, awaken.”

A forefinger and thumb pried his eye open.

“Seto.”

Kaiba swatted the hand away. He grumbled, fisted the covers and turned over.

“I would like you to get up right now. Be grateful that I am polite about it.”

Kaiba sighed. Once he was awake, he was awake. There was no going back. “It's early.” The sun was still up. He could sense it.

Yami, perched on the edge of the mattress, nodded. “Yes. But you need to get physically and mentally prepared for what we are doing tonight.”

Kaiba propped himself up on his elbow. Blue eyes stared blearily through tousled bangs. “What are you going on about?”

The corner of Yami's lip quirked up. “Do you not remember?”

“Pretty sure I don't even remember my name right now.” He'd gotten too used to having a suspiciously sufficient amount of sleep. Not enough bogged him down.

Yami laughed, that hearty one he did where he threw his head back.

Kaiba never quite understood what he found so damn funny.

“I am going to bring you to Mokuba, Seto.”

Kaiba sat up fully. “Really?”

Yami nodded. “Get up. Get dressed and ready.”

Yami left the room, gently closed the door behind him.

Kaiba lifted the blankets off of his body. They were pointless; he didn't produce any heat for them to capture. But he found the weight comforting. At least he actually slept in a bed, unlike Yami, who, when he actually managed to fall asleep, just left himself draped across whatever. His desk, chairs, sofas. Kaiba even even found him on the floor once.

Kaiba supposed that when one lived as long as Yami, beds lost their significance.

“However long that is…” he muttered to himself as he dressed. Maybe he could get some of his own damn clothes while he was home.

The shaking of his fingers made it hard to button up his shirt. His breath trembled in his throat. Lately, he'd been developing a bad habit of simply shutting down all unneeded mental faculties when faced with an undue amount of stress.

It wasn't working now.

 _Jesus Christ_. He was a vampire. How was he going to explain that?

_'Sup, Mokuba. I'm a blood-sucking immortal with a propensity for severe sunburning now. This short dude over here saved my life and changed me. By the way, he can turn into animals and shadow monsters. Neat, right?_

No!

Not neat. Fucking _unbelievable_.

Lips pressed into a tight line, he followed Yami's scent to the study.

The man in questioned was leaning against his desk, his arms folded and one leg loosely crossed over the other at the ankle. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt. The first button was undone, revealed the delicate dip at the center of his collarbone. Kaiba gulped. A blue jacket was draped over his shoulders, and navy pants hugged his thighs but hung loose at his calves.  Better than a wife-beater.

“How… how is this going to work?” Kaiba asked.

“That depends upon several things,” Yami began. “I will remain hidden in the shadows for the duration of your visit. Unless, of course, you want Mokuba to meet me face-to-face. That brings about the question of whether or not you will inform him of your recently-acquired undead nature.”

Kaiba drifted over to a chair and lowered himself into it. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. Could he even keep it from Mokuba? He knew he didn't have to worry about Mokuba telling anyone, but could his little brother handle this information? “I don't know.”

Yami nodded in understanding. “For right now, we'll operate under the assumption that it will be kept a secret. You can always change your mind later.”

“And how are we going to get there?” Kaiba asked, genuinely curious and kind of sarcastic.

Yami arched an eyebrow. “Driving.” He said it matter-of-factly.

“Oh, _of course_ ,” Kaiba started, “because I knew you would have a need for a vehicle.”

“When I am traveling with someone else, yes, and when I am under the guise of a human. I require a vehicle then.”

“How do you get around when you're alone then?”

“I fly.” Matter-of-factly.

Kaiba paused. “Like an airplane? Or…?” he asked testily. The shadow beast had wings. Certainly they weren't for show.

“I shapeshift into a bird.”

Kaiba's molars ground together. Ah, yes, the freaky shapeshifting shit.

Before him, flesh suddenly melted into shadow, shadow froze into feathers. Perched on the edge of the desk, right where Yami had propped his hips, was a bird. It was long-billed, red-eyed. Its legs were long and delicate. A small crane or heron of some kind. Its breast was a snowy white, but the wings and the top of the head were pitch black. A single long, threadlike yellow feather descended from the top of the head and curled over its back.

Kaiba stared at it. Red eyes stared back. The head bobbed, a throaty croak.

“Holy shit,” Kaiba said in quiet contemplation of the scene before him.

Dark wings fluttered, delicate feathers splaying and folding. Kaiba slowly extended a hand. Yami held out a wing, flight feathers fanned. Kaiba lightly traced his index finger along the edge of the wing. The feathers were silky, smooth, soft. He brushed the back of his knuckles against the white breast. Red eyes stared at him.

Flushing a little, Kaiba withdrew his hand.

A flurry of shadows, and a man once again stood before him.

“What kind of bird was that?”

“I believe they are called black-crowned night-herons, now.”

“... Fitting.”

The corner of Yami's lip tugged up. “We'll stop by the manor and walk the rest of the way there.”

Kaiba slowly inhaled. “Okay.”

* * *

“Did you convert this part into a garage?” Kaiba perused the area curiously.

“No. It was like this before I acquired the property.”

“I still find it ironic that you live in a church.”

Yami smirked. “Indeed. The priests that once attended it would roll over in their graves if they knew that a serpent sleeps in their ‘House of God.’”

Kaiba blinked at his choice in words. He shook his head slightly and looked at the car parked in the garage. It was hardly as luxurious as his own vehicles, but it was sleek, a silky black. Somehow, the understated style fit Yami.

Yami swung the keys on his index finger and marched to the driver’s side. “We will go at once.”

“ _You’re_ driving?”

“Yes.”

Kaiba blinked, skeptical.

Yami raised an eyebrow drolly. “I’ve been driving since before you were born. My skills are more than adequate.”

“Just because you’ve been doing it a long time doesn’t mean that you’re any good at it,” Kaiba snapped.

“Fair point. Get in.”

Kaiba snorted, but did as he was told. The seats were leather. Comfortable. Kaiba sank back.

Yami slipped into the driver’s seat. Kaiba stared. Just like seeing Yami in the kitchen, but… not quite as bad. Yami was relaxed back into the seat, his knees slightly parted. Elegant fingers turned the keys in the ignition.

The garage door opened without prompting.

“Sneaky shadow tricks…” Kaiba growled.

The corner of Yami’s lip quirked up. He put the car in gear, and they glided forward into the driveway. The door rumbled close behind them. The car smoothly turned onto the street.

Kaiba blinked at their surroundings. The church, behemoth and solemn, sat isolated amongst abandoned warehouses. Were they even in Domino anymore? He exhaled through parted lips. It didn’t matter. It just felt good to see the outside again. He missed the sun, though. He looked back to Yami.

His left hand rested languidly on the lower left quarter of the wheel, his elbow on the door. His right hand mirrored the left. If Yami were Mokuba, Seto would’ve reprimanded him. But, as in all things, Yami seemed comfortable in his skin, confident in his skills. The car stopped and started smoothly, with little-to-no jerk.

In other words, Yami drove as gracefully as he moved.

Kaiba tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

If it still could, his heart would have been pounding.

* * *

Weevil thumped a fist into Rex’s bicep. “He just left. Are the others ready?”

Rex gulped. “Yeah.”

Weevil's lips contorted into a sadistic grin. “Good.”

* * *

They pulled into the parking lot of a gas station quite a ways down the road from the manor. Yami sidled up to the shadows of the building and cut the ignition. The purr of the car faded into deafening silence.

Kaiba's palms were cold and sweaty. He twitched and rubbed them on his pants.

“How do we even know that Mokuba will be home?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

Yami looked at him. Purple eyes glowed with tender understanding. “Worry not. He will be.” Kaiba grunted. “If you don't think you are ready, we can always do this later.”

Kaiba hissed and jerked the door open. Yami's eyes followed him as he stepped from the car and slammed the door closed.

Yami followed, more quietly, and locked the car. He tucked the keys into his pocket.

Kaiba was already striding across the parking lot toward the road. Yami easily caught up.

Kaiba glanced at him. The pale moonlight washed his blond bangs to a bright silver. “Not going to ‘hide in the shadows,’ Yami?”

“I was not planning on doing that yet.” Purple caught blue. “Do you wish me to?”

“Do what you want,” Kaiba grumbled.

They fell into quiet. All around, the nightlife of nature sang and bustled. Insects, nocturnal birds, the denizens of dark and moonlight. Kaiba breathed in the cool, fresh air. It reinvigorated and soothed him.

“I know you are scared, Seto,” Yami murmured.

“Hn.”

“it is only natural to be so. Mokuba will not reject you,” he said softly.

“How do you know?” Kaiba growled.

“Intuition. Wisdom. The strength of your bond will not be faltered by undeath,” Yami said. “Devotion as unyielding as the one between you and him echoes through time and space, between life and death. It knows no bounds.”

Kaiba snapped his head over. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Yami’s head shook slightly. His silvered bangs swayed. “I am not speaking in riddle, Seto. I mean just what I say.”

“Well, it sounds… sappy,” Kaiba grunted, though some of the tension drained from his shoulders, and he looked to the road ahead of him.

Yami's lip twitched up, a chortle rumbled, restrained, in his throat. “Perhaps. But that does not make it any less true.”

“We'll see.”

Kaiba could see the stately bricks pillars of the gates. They stood solemn at the mouth of the driveway. A cold clammy sweat slicked his palms. He and Yami were close now. Yami paused, his hand on Kaiba's forearm.

Kaiba looked at him. Those purple eyes, washed silver and black by night and moonlight, held his firmly.

“If you feel overwhelmed --”

“Leave. I know the drill.”

Yami's skin looked like porcelain, poreless and smooth, his thick lashes an abyssal frame around gleaming eyes. Kaiba gulped. He once again questioned the firmity of reality. He gritted his teeth.

“I will be at your side the entire time. All you need is to call.” Yami's cold fingertips brushed along Kaiba's chin. The chill seared him like a brand. “Seto, I will not allow _any_ harm to befall Mokuba. Know that. You need not worry.”

Kaiba nodded stiffly.

Yami's knuckles traced briefly Kaiba's cheek. “Relax. All will be well.”

Then, his form faded into fluid blackness, melted into Kaiba's own shadow. Kaiba blinked. He couldn't see Yami, but he could _feel_ him, _smell_ him. Rock and incense. He took a deep breath.

He kept walking. It felt as though Yami were still walking next to him.

He breathed out. His breath itself was so cold that it couldn't fog out in the chilly night air. Pebbles scattered on the asphalt crunched beneath his shoes. He approached the gate. He pressed the button on the speaker.

The voice that crackled through caught him off guard. “Seto!?”

His shoulders sagged at the sound. “Mokuba. Let me in.”

The gates immediately swung open.

He walked up the drive. Yami trailed in his shadow.

He was home.


	9. Rats (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leveled up to “M” due to graphic violence. Yayyyyy blood and guts. 
> 
> The long-awaited reunion of brothers. Also yayyyyy.
> 
> And the slow, slow burn continues… yayyyyyy…

The door opened. Black hair whipped back, Mokuba sprinted out. Seto felt his own legs quicken. Every step and lash of the night breeze brought them closer.

“Seto!” Mokuba cried. They were only a few yards away from each other now. Mokuba launched himself. The weight and force of his lean body almost took Seto off his feet. Almost.

Arms clutched tight around his back, and Mokuba's face pressed hard into his shoulder. Seto banded his arms around Mokuba. He immediately got tangled in wild black hair. Mokuba's shoulders shook, his heart pounded. He sniffled, and Seto realized the teen was holding back a sob.

He petted the long raven locks. His own eyes stung, and he blinked hastily.

Mokuba chuckled wetly. “You're really cold, Seto. Let's get you inside.” Despite his words, he stayed glued to his big brother.

Seto's unbeating heart clenched painfully.

God, he'd even missed how Mokuba _smelled_. Fucking weird.

Finally, the pair retracted from one another. They both chuckled when the button on Seto's cuff got tangled in Mokuba's hair. They slowly walked up the driveway.

“What… what happened? Where have you been?” Mokuba asked. His voice wavered. Kaiba remembered a scared little boy. A boy that lived in that trembling voice.

“Let's get inside first, Moki,” Seto replied quietly.

Seto's eyes eagerly drank in the manor. He never thought he'd miss this place so much. He stilled; Yami's quiet presence shifted to the shadow of a small table with a plant on it.

It was surreal. Two worlds collided. His human life, ignorant of the Underworld, and his experience in Yami's home as a blood-sucking creature of the night.

He blinked and took off his jacket. Mokuba eagerly grabbed it from his hands and stowed it away in the closet.

“Do you want something to drink?” Mokuba asked.

Seto grimaced. “Stop treating me like a guest in my own home.”

Mokuba smiled shakily. “Sorry… it's just been like…” he voice dipped and gurgled with restrained tears, “... a month since last I saw you.”

Seto's eyes widened. Holy shit. It really had been.

Lavender eyes stared at him beseechingly. “What _happened_ , Seto?”

He gulped. He couldn't handle the puppy dog eyes, much less when they were watery with tears. “I…”

Mokuba's lips trembled. “L-Let's go sit down.”

Seto nodded. He drifted behind. Yami crawled along inside Seto's shadow as they walked into a small lounge area. Seto slowly sat on the sofa across from his little brother.

Yami flitted beneath the couch. Seto could all but _feel_ him brush against his legs.

“How did you know I would come tonight?” Seto asked dazedly.

Mokuba's hands twisted together on his lap. “This is going to sound crazy.” He chuckled and palmed his face. “You're probably not going to believe me.”

Seto's lip curled. “Try me.”

“... A little bird told me,” Mokuba said, shoulders shaking with laughter. “L-Literally.”

Seto laughed, too. “What?”

Mokuba wiped at his eyes. “Yeah. It was like a stork or something.”

“A night heron,” Seto said quietly. Yami.

Mokuba blinked at him. “Have you seen it, too?”

Seto nodded once, but didn't elaborate.

“It brought me a note. Typed. By a typewriter.” Mokuba rubbed his eyebrow. “Twice. It brought me notes twice.”

Seto arched an eyebrow. “Twice?”

Mokuba nodded. “One when you first disappeared and one last night.”

Yami…

Seto leaned his elbow on the arm of the couch. He nervously rubbed his fingers against his thumb. “What did the notes say?”

Mokuba stood up. “I can get them for you.” Suddenly, he looked reluctant. “But… I don’t want to leave and you not be here. I feel like this is just a dream.”

Seto’s face softened. “I’ll still be right here, Mokuba. I wouldn’t just leave you like that.” He flinched internally. Except he had.

Mokuba nodded curtly and chewed his lip. With long strides so reminiscent of his older brother, he walked from the room.

When Seto was sure Mokuba was no longer in earshot, he whispered, “So you’ve been in contact with him this whole time?”

Yami slithered up Seto’s leg and along his back. His cold, shadowy presence curled at Seto’s shoulder. Seto shivered. It felt like icy lips were brushing his ear. “I knew you would not want him to worry himself senseless. I tried my best to alleviate his fears.” Yami’s voice was so incredibly faint, a gentle night breeze through leafless trees. But Seto still heard him clear as day.

“Thank you…” he murmured. Mokuba’s steps echoed through the house. He was getting closer again.

“Of course, Seto,” Yami replied gently.

Seto shuddered, fingers curled tight into the material of his pants. The tender way Yami’s voice traced over the syllables echoed back to a warbling moan and gasp. Suddenly, Yami’s presence zipped away to the shadows under the couch. Seto pressed his knuckles to his lips hard enough to feel his teeth dig into the soft flesh inside his mouth.

Mokuba came back into the room holding two folded papers. His shoulders sagged with relief when he saw Seto still sitting on the sofa. “Here. The worn one is the first one.”

Seto took both into his hands. Indeed, one was worn from being folded and unfolded and rubbed between fingers time and again. Seto gingerly unfolded it with deft fingers.

_Dear Mokuba Kaiba,_

_Your brother is safe. Trust not Pegasus, trust not Paradius. Do not go out at night._

_Seto will see you as soon as he is well. He will be secure in my care._

_Wishing you peace in the twilight,_

_A friend_

“Paradius?” he echoed. “Like the real estate empire?” He had some questions for Yami now.

“I’m guessing so. Why does it tell me not to go out at night?” Mokuba asked, touched his finger to the paper.

Seto glanced up at him. Yami’s words echoed through his head; _“Be careful. The night has fangs, Tea.”_

“It’s… not safe,” Seto said. “The people who tried to get me might try to get you. They… prefer to work at night.” He grimaced. Mokuba won’t let him leave it at that.

“Who tried to take you, Seto?!” Mokuba questioned fervently.

Seto rubbed his eyebrow. Clammy sweat clung to his back. How much should he tell Mokuba?

A reassuring touch upon his knee. He looked up. Mokuba was too far away for it to be him.

He sighed. “Pegasus.” He didn’t clarify to Mokuba that “take” meant “tried to drain me the last of my blood and possibly turn me into his thrall and/or spawn.”

“Holy shit!”

Seto glared at him. “ _Language_ , Mokuba.”

Mokuba gaped at him. “It’s a valid response, Seto! How did you escape?!” He jabbed a finger onto the note. “What did it mean, ‘when you’re well’? The other says something similar!”

Seto’s head spun. So many questions. “A… friend helped me. The one who wrote the letters.”

“And who is that?” Mokuba asked, vehement.

“I don’t know if I can tell you that.” _I don’t know what you can handle. What you can believe._

Frustrated tears wetted those lavender eyes. “I think I deserve to know what’s happening, Seto. Whether you like it or not, I’m involved in this, too!”

Seto suddenly stood up. “Mokuba. Give me your hand.”

Mokuba's eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Give me your damn hand, Mokuba!” Seto snapped. He snatched his little brother by the wrist. He pressed Mokuba's palm to his chest.

Mokuba struggled hard, yanked back, pried at Seto's long pale fingers. “What the hell, Seto! Let go of me!” His hand didn't budge from Seto's grip.

“What do you feel, Mokuba?” Seto asked solemnly.

Mokuba stopped moving, though his whole body was taut as a wire. “You're _really_ cold.”

Seto nodded. “What else?”

Mokuba's lavender eyes blinked. “I don't… I don't know. Guess I don't really feel anything else.”

Seto’s head tilted forward, his eyebrows raising. “Nothing else? Not even, say, a heartbeat?”

Mokuba's mouth dropped open. He focused on the cold body under his palm. Seto's chest rose and fell with his steady breaths, and Mokuba could feel the slight rasp of them. But that was it. Seto lifted Mokuba's hand off his chest, moved it to his own pale wrist. He pushed two of Mokuba's tanned fingers into what should have been a pulse point. He pressed hard, hard enough to bruise.

No pulse.

Mokuba's eyes were as wide as saucers. “You… You…”

Seto shook his head slowly, blue eyes locked onto his teenage brother. “I don't have a heartbeat, Mokuba.”

Mokuba reeled back, and Seto let him slip away. “What… what is happening, Seto?”

“I'm…” he paused to gulp, Adam's apple bobbing painfully hard. “I'm a… a vampire, Moki.”

“Th-this isn't the time to be joking around, Seto,” he whispered. His voice cut in and out with his obvious distress.

“I wouldn't joke around about this.” Seto stepped forward.

Mokuba stumbled back, tripped on the edge of a rug.

Seto’s undead heart seized with agony. “Mokuba, I'm not going to hurt you.”

Mokuba hastily stood, hands splayed out as if Seto were some wild animal that needed calming. “How am I supposed to believe that?! You're obviously having a delusional fit!”

Seto shook his head. “No, Mokuba. Pegasus is one, too. He almost killed me. Yami saved my life.”

“Pegasus? Jesus, Seto, listen to what you're saying!”

Frustration crashed upon Seto's nerves, made his hands shake and his body tremble. “You felt it for yourself, Mokuba.”

Tears glistened on his little brother's face. “I don't know… I don't understand…”

Seto took the chance to move close and pull Mokuba into his embrace. “I'd never hurt you. _Please_ , believe me.”

Mokuba shivered. Hugging Seto felt like hugging a block of ice. Shock lapped at his senses. His fingers curled hard into the back of Seto's shirt. He went slack, sobbing.

Tears stung at Seto's own eyes. He looked up to the ceiling, tried to blink them away, but one curled and trickled along his cheek.

Mokuba saw through blurry eyes as a drop of dark red landed on Seto's shirt, right next to Mokuba's nose. “S-Seto…?”

“What is it?” Seto asked, voice garbled with restraint emotion.

“Y-Your sh-sh-shirt…”

Seto glanced down. Blood. Senses becoming suddenly aware, he smelt it. He hastily drew Mokuba back by his shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

Mokuba gasped, looked upon Seto's face with horror.

Seto touched his wet face. Blackish red smeared his fingertips. “Holy shit, I cry blood.” He looked back at Mokuba, who seemed to be completely frozen with shock. “I fucking told you.”

Mokuba swayed to the side, his eyes rolling back. Seto caught him. He tapped Mokuba's face with his clean hand. “Moki, Moki, c'mon.”

The lavender eyes did not open. He was unconscious.

Seto cursed, swept his brother up in his arms. Mokuba did not feel nearly as heavy as normal.

Supernatural strength was kind of a nice perk, Seto supposed sourly.

He laid Mokuba out on the sofa.

A cold hand landed on his shoulder. He glanced back.

Yami. In the flesh.

Seto took a deep breath. Rather uncharacteristically, he felt like bursting into tears at the sight of those understanding violet eyes. He turned to fully face him.

Yami reached up, gentle fingers swiping silent crimson tears from Seto's face. “It's okay, Seto.”

Seto felt himself sink into those frigid hands. “It doesn't feel like it.”

Thumbs caressed his cheekbones. “It would have been much worse if it weren't.” Yami's head tilted. Those purple eyes were so warm and tender they seemed molten. “He didn't try to kill you. And he didn't run away.”

Seto remained silent a moment, allowed himself this moment of weakness. He breathed slowly to calm himself.

Yami tugged him to sit in a chair. He did so slowly.

“You… you didn't tell me I would cry blood,” Seto murmured at the sight of the dark red on Yami's hands.

Yami gave him a small smile, adjusted Seto's bangs. “I didn't know if you would inherit that from me.”

“So you do it, too?”

Yami's voice was quiet. “Yes.”

Seto was about to sniffle, and hid it with a snort. “It's fucking gross.”

Yami laughed quietly. “Yes, it is a bit messy, isn't it?”

“A bit messy? Yeah, I think this shirt is ruined.” He poked a finger at the small red droplet on his chest. He pulled a tissue from a side table to wipe off his hand and face as best as he could.

Yami snorted this time. “Don't be silly. I've managed to get much more out of my clothes.” He also wiped off his hands.

Seto's brows furrowed. “Do you make a habit out of drenching yourself in blood?”

Yami just stared at him.

Seto shivered. “Shit, you do, don't you?”

Mokuba shifted on the couch. He was coming back to consciousness. Thank god. Seto _really_ needed a distraction from their topic of conversation. Yami began to fade. Seto latched onto his wrist.

“No. I think he should meet you,” Seto said, resolute.

Purple eyes blinked down at him. A firm nod.

Seto pulled his hand away. Their fingers brushed together. Seto rubbed his thumb against his fingers, but the feeling remained.

Mokuba groaned and slowly sat up. “Ugh…” He rubbed his eyes and blinked hazily at the room. His gaze landed on Seto in the chair that he occupied earlier.

And the strange man next to him.

He hastily stood. “Who're you? How did you get here?!”

“He's been here the whole time, Mokuba,” Seto said gently.

Yami strode forward slowly, a hand extended.

Mokuba stumbled back, fell onto the couch.

Yami smiled, a small, caring tilt of the lips. “Mokuba, I'm not here to hurt you. I'm Yami. The man who saved Seto and the writer of the letters you received.”

 _And the avian messenger_ , Seto added wryly.

Mokuba's lip twitched. “Oh. How did you…?”

Realizing that a handshake was not in order, Yami retracted his hand. “All explanations in due time.” He withdrew to another chair in the room. He lounged on it as regally as any.

Mokuba stared at him. “Are… are you one, too?”

A tilt of the chin. “Yes. Though much… older than either your brother or Pegasus.”

Mokuba slouched back against the cushions. “So now my brother drinks blood…” He looked back to Seto. “Have you k-killed anyone?”

Seto's eyes widened. “No!”

Yami chuckled. “He feeds from me. It will be so until I think him fit for the hunt. Even then, I will not allow him to _kill_ anyone.”

Mokuba leaned forward, lavender eyes wide with fascination. “Can I watch? Him feed?”

“No,” Seto growled. Cold flooded his face, and he took a deep breath to get his composure back. Of course, Mokuba had this weird fascination for gore and all things mangled (it apparently wasn't too strange a behavior for teenage boys, but Seto himself never went through such a phase, so it certainly took him by surprise). Mokuba just… _didn't know_ what he was asking.

“Can I at least see your fangs?” Mokuba asked, addressing Yami.

Yami's jaw dropped, lips curled back. His canines gleamed, pearlescent, as they extended. They looked… freakishly long. Longer than his own felt.

And Yami… had bitten him with those?

Seto shuddered.

“Woah, that's… cool…” Mokuba breathed, equal parts intrigued and disturbed.

Fangs retracted, Yami smirked a little. He hadn't missed a single reaction.

“How… how old are you?” Mokuba asked.

Seto froze. Yami hadn't bothered to divulge such information… but Seto hadn't bothered to ask.

Seto realized he hardly knew anything about his shadowy savior.

Yami rested his jaw on his knuckles. “Hmmm. Factoring in calendar changes, I'd say… perhaps four-thousand-five-hundred years. Give or take a couple of decades.”

Seto almost did a spit-take, despite not having anything which he was currently drinking.

“Da-yum! That's old!” Mokuba crowed.

Seto stared, wide-eyed, at the other man. Okay, he'd knew Yami was from ancient Egypt, but not _ancient_ Egypt! Seto had guessed two thousand, maybe a couple extra centuries, TOPS.

No. Yami was twice that age.

Yami blinked at the pair. It no longer remained of much import to him, exactly how old he was.

Seto studied Yami with fresh eyes.

Just what had that violet gaze seen? Distant, ancient lands, men and women whose bones were now but dust of the earth.

He shook his head slowly and turned his attention back to Mokuba.

* * *

Seto slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. Mokuba's lavender eyes glistened. “I don't want you to go.”

Seto ruffled that long black hair. “I know, Mokuba. But I have to.”

“When will you come back for good? It's… empty here without you.”

Seto glanced back at Yami. He was staring out the window at the moon-washed driveway. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Seto turned back to Mokuba. “I don't know. When I've got everything under control I guess.” He stepped forward and hugged his little brother. Mokuba clung eagerly to him. Seto had so much to say, but not the words to say them. He drew away. “We'll be back soon.”

Mokuba nodded. “Love you, Seto.”

“Love you too, Moki.” They drew apart.

“I guess I'll see you.”

“You will. I'd let the world burn before I'd let it take me away from you,” Seto said as he turned away. He opened the door and strode out. “Let's go, Yami. Mokuba needs to get some sleep.”

He heard Mokuba whisper. “Please take care of him, Yami.”

“I will,” came the soft but firm reply. “May you find peace in the twilight, Mokuba.”

He didn't hear Yami's steps, but he could feel Yami's presence as he caught up to him.

“That was a rather abrupt exit, Seto,” Yami remarked calmly.

Seto blinked. A lump was caught stiffly in his throat. He grunted.

Yami glanced at his fledgling. “When you are through with the basics, you will be returning to your… normal life, here, with Mokuba.” Yami's deep voice percolated warmly through the night. “He needs you.”

“What do you define as the ‘basics’?” Seto questioned roughly.

“Feeding responsibly on your own, a modicum of self-defense maneuvers,” Yami said, “the works.” The gate opened for them, and they turned down the road.

“I can defend myself well enough, thank you,” he growled.

“I am sure,” Yami replied wryly. “You fought Pegasus off so well. My help really was not needed.”

Seto growled again, this time frustrated and deep in his chest. “I… didn't ask for your help. I didn't ask for any of this.” He sounded less angry and accusatory and more… defeated.

“I know,” Yami said quietly. He stilled. All around them the night was… silent.

Seto kept walking, but soon stopped to look at the other man.

Yami was perfectly still, not even breathing. He lifted a slender finger to his lips. He could feel them, out in the woods. Two dozen and two.

Seto furrowed his brows and mouthed, “What the hell are you doing?”

Yami's lunged. “Get down!” Seto collided harshly with the ground, Yami's fist curled into his collar. Less than a nanosecond later, a dark shape hurtled overhead.

Shadows raged around Yami, a clawed hand extended, as he caught the figure and tossed it aside. The scent of blood, cold and acrid, stained the night air with a wet burst. Even in the flurry, Seto, with his keen night vision, saw the figure tumble across the road, entrails a gory train behind.

Then, Seto sensed them.

Vampires.

Just how he could _feel_ Yami's presence, he could sense theirs. Though, even collectively, they did not hold a candle to Yami's aura.

They were surrounded.

Yami remained crouched protectively over him. His red eyes glowed like haunting beacons in the night. Black wings arched and fanned menacingly. Yami growled, bestial, inhuman, and the very night itself roiled at the sound.

“Oooooh, scar~ry,” a short man, even shorter than Yami himself, crowed.

“Weevil,” Yami replied. The shadows surrounding them all rippled.

“It's time you step down from your high horse. We know the truth!” The man's voice was snide. He stood straight, teal hair washed silver in the moonlight. “You're ‘shadow tricks’ are all for show!”

The sable head turned slowly. His hair, much like the shadowed mane of a beast, made an intimidating silhouette in the silver night. Seto stared up at him. A gleaming symbol of an eye pulsed from the center of Yami's forehead as he regarded those surrounding them.

“You are making a grave mistake, Weevil Underwood.”

“You may have been able to kill one of us, but you can't take all of us at once! Attack him!”

They swarmed upon Yami like a hive of bees.

But he was gone. Seto momentarily panicked. Did Yami just leave him behind?

Cries of pain and the sick splitting of flesh echoed into the darkness. A flurry of black claws, red eyes leaving streams of light behind Seto's eyelids. Viscera and blood splashed dark and cold upon grass and asphalt.

Seto rose shakily to his feet. He turned just in time to see a man charge at him. Like a streak of wicked lightning, Yami was there. Dastardly talons wrenched into the man's shoulders. With a blood-curdling roar, Yami tore him asunder. Blood sprayed everywhere. The fragments were cast aside as if they were garbage.

As quickly as Yami disposed of one assailant, he moved onto the next. The brave fought back valiantly. One lunged upon the monster, only to have claws sink into his chest and rip his lungs straight from his ribs. The cowardly stood frozen or disappeared into the night.

Before long, only one remained.

Weevil Underwood.

Yami hoisted him up by a clawed hand on his throat. The shadows melted away. Yami was slicked, head to toe, in blood. Weevil wheezed and gurgled, clawed weakly at the hand at his throat, but his fingers only slipped messily on the gore staining Yami's flesh.

Yami's lip curled up in a snarl. Long fangs extended, glinted in the night as he hissed. “You've always been a fool, Weevil. I knew someday I would end up killing you.”

Weevil squirmed. His nails couldn't break through the thick coating of liquid. “P-Please…”

Yami shook him fiercely. Weevil choked and gasped. Yami's hand tightened. His claws sank into the flesh of Weevil's neck. Cold blood trickled out. Yami yanked him down. Fangs flashed before they were buried in flesh. Weevil screamed, clawed at the wild hair matted with blood. Seto watched, frozen, as Weevil’s scrambling waned in strength, until his arms hung limply at his sides. Yami withdrew, tongue dragging over bloodied fangs, eyes glowing red upon his victim. He emotionlessly tossed Weevil to the side. The small man sprawled brokenly in the grass. Crimson eyes turned to Seto.

Seto shivered. Yami stepped closer. Seto stepped back, until he tripped on a severed leg and tumbled to the cold, blood-stained grass. The smell of copper hung on the air so heavily it nearly made Seto nauseous.

“Don’t fear me now, Seto,” Yami said quietly.

“Y-You… they…” Seto stuttered, voice thick and wobbling.

“Would you rather me stand there and let them kill you? You certainly weren’t their target, but when heathens lust for blood, they will not stop until they have it,” Yami murmured. “Come. I should wash this away before we return to the vehicle.”

Seto watched Yami turn to the forest and stalk between moon-dappled branches. His feet automatically moved to get up and follow, duffel bag still slung over his shoulder.

“What about them? What if someone finds them?” Seto asked. Yami wasn’t going to just leave all of those… dismembered bodies behind, was he?

Yami's deep voice resonated between the trees. “They will burn away to ash when the sun rises.”

Seto gulped and quietly followed a few yards behind the other man.

What had he just witnessed? Never in his life had he seen such a ruthless display of bloodshed. Seto understood that Yami was powerful, but did not have a basis for comparison to put that power into perspective. He did now. Those vampires never stood a chance against Yami.

He'd never felt so disturbed, yet damnably _safe_ before.

The gentle babbling of water tickled his ears. Of course, this was probably the river, the one that also passed through the northern half of the Kaiba estate.

They broke through the treeline. The water, black and glistening like obsidian in the night, carved lazily through the forest.

Without preamble, Yami began to strip.

Seto's jaws clenched hard enough for his teeth to hurt, and he hastily turned to face the trees. Clothes plopped wetly on the grass. The smell of blood was thick on the air. Water gurgled and swished as Yami stepped into the river. Meanwhile, Seto checked his duffle bag. It, too, had splotches and sprays of blood on it. Good thing it was sealed and waterproof; his clothes should be untouched.

He looked down at himself. Tiny pinpoints of black and the occasional droplet and splotch stained his shirt and pants. It wasn't anything too bad. Nothing like the bloodbath Yami had subjected himself to.

A splash echoed behind him, and he reflexively looked over his shoulder.

Yami had apparently just dunked himself into the water, but now he stood upright in the middle of the river, the water up to his waist. His back was to Seto, and the diluted blood flowed down his back in murky rivulets. His arms, pale skin now gleaming from beneath the thinning layer of black, were bent up as his hands scrubbed and wrung at his wild hair.

He dunked -- though that word was far too awkward to describe the elegance and grace of the motion -- himself again, and when he came back up, the pale flesh of his back was easily visible. Though muscular and scarred, Yami looked so _soft_ , _smooth_ as he stood there, wet in the moonlight.

Seto rubbed his thumbs against his fingers.

He cleared his throat, which suddenly seemed thick. “What are you going to do about your clothes?”

Yami turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. His blond bangs clung wetly to his smooth cheek. “I could rinse them as well as I can, and simply wear them wet to the vehicle. I do have a change of clothes in the trunk. However, I was hoping that you would be willing to lend me a set of yours.” His dark eyebrows lifted and tilted in a doleful expression. “Please?”

Something in Seto's chest clenched breathlessly. So Yami _could_ be cute when he wasn't “Yugi.” Seto's face flushed at his own thoughts. Calling a man he just saw kill two dozen men… _cute?!_ “I mean, they'll probably be fucking huge on you.”

Yami smiled, grateful, amused by Seto's roundabout way of acquiescing “It will be better than nothing. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he mumbled back. He settled onto the grass and opened the bag.

Most of his clothes would probably slide right off Yami's small, slender body. His pants would dangle in excess over Yami's feet and probably trip him. (Though Seto could not fathom Yami _ever_ doing something as clumsy as _tripping_.)

He settled on a blank button-up (one that was a bit on the tight side for himself) and a similar pair of pants. And underwear…?

Ugh, whatever. He would follow Yami's lead when it came to _that_.

The soft swish of water echoed to his ears. Yami was wading out of the river. He glanced up briefly. Clean, white skin. Rivulets of water caressing over sleek muscle.

He clenched his jaw and looked away as quickly as he had glanced.

He heard the slide of Yami's palms over his skin to swipe the water off.

“The water was cool,” Yami murmured.

Seto grunted in response. He tried to focus on the babble of the water, even as he heard the whisper of cloth over skin. Cold fingers touched his chin. He turned his head. Yami was fully dressed, though the material clung damply to his form. Yami smelled like water and silt. “Thank you.”

Seto nodded curtly.

Yami wiped off his leather shoes as best he could, and, with a languid pass of his hand, set his bloody clothes alight.

Silent, the pair walked into the woods, into the night.

* * *

The sun reached its awakening rays over the horizon. Tongues of red and gold lapped at the dark blues and purples of night. Light poured over the land, slow, like spilled honey.

The gentle fingertips of the golden glow caressed over the carnage on the side of the road. At its touch, flesh and blood smoldered. Shapes collapsed inward and gasped out clouds of dust. The tiny flames died away, and ash slithered in the faint breeze over asphalt.

There was nothing left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I have a question for you, my beloved readers. I have assembling a playlist/soundtrack for this story. If I were to post it to my profile page, maybe even a link to a YouTube playlist, how many of you would be willing to listen to it? If you have an answer, you can list it in a comment.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for being patient and reading this chapter!


	10. Dark All Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What a hell of a feeling,  
> It is dark all day,  
> But there's something in the sky that glows…”  
> \- Dark All Day, Gunship

The garage door rumbled shut behind them. Yami put the car in park, twisted the key, and removed it. The silence was deafening.

Yami opened the door and exited the car. Seto followed. He took his duffel bag from the trunk. They left the garage.

“I have something I would like to discuss with you,” Yami said. It was hard to believe that his face had been caked with blood less than an hour and a half before. “Take care of your clothes and come to the study.”

Seto nodded curtly. He was exhausted; it was close to sunrise, and the night had been emotionally draining and rather… _traumatizing_ , but he didn't feel like arguing.

* * *

Seto peered into the study. Yami sat at his desk. He fingers rhythmically danced over the keys of his typewriter.

_Ping!_

Yami still wore Seto's clothing. The shirt was a little loose on him, and, since he had the collar button undone, it would slide a tad bit down to his shoulder. Defined collarbone, pale flesh.

A low warmth trickled through Seto's veins, and he gulped tensely. Jesus, why hadn't he taken it off when his own clothes were readily accessible!

“We hunt tomorrow. Together,” Yami suddenly said. His deep voice resonated through the study.

“We… hunt…” Seto repeated slowly.

Yami's deep violet eyes cut up to him. “At least I will. If you do not yet feel comfortable with the notion of feeding from a human, you may wait. But you will be accompanying me.” Yami typed more. _Ping!_ “If we are to get you integrated back into your old life, into Mokuba's life, then you must eventually learn to hunt.”

Seto imagined sinking his fangs into some damsel's neck, holding her close to bury his face in her neck. Then, he imagined Yami doing the same, though gentler than he had drained Weevil. Hands, slender, sensuous gliding. Gripping hair tenderly and tilting, lips brushing against skin and parting.

“Do… humans react to feeding the same way … we --” (you) “--do?”

Yami's long lashes fluttered down, curtained the amaranthine abyss of his irises. He set the typewriter to the side. “It is all dependant on the individual. The situation.” He tilted his head. Violet snapped back up to meet blue. “Attraction lends to it. Vampires have an… allure. Sensuality. _Sexuality_.”

“I've… noticed,” Seto muttered.

Yami's lip quirked up. “It makes it much easier to hunt. When humans are naturally _drawn_ to us, no matter how dangerous we may seem.”

Seto's brow furrowed. “But… Pegasus. I've _always_ found him repulsive. He makes my skin _crawl_.”

Yami leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. He chuckled a little. “Perhaps. He _is_ Strigoi, which I personally have always found repulsive.” His hands laced together. His thumb brushed over his other knuckles. The movement was mildly hypnotic. “But, he also didn't seem to be purposely preying on you. For your blood, at least.”

Seto nodded mutely.

“For instance, I doubt when I use my shadow powers that I could be considered _seductive_ ,” Yami reasoned. He blinked thoughtfully and rubbed his chin absently with his thumb. “Though, tastes these days have become rather… _eccentric_.”

Seto smirked. “No, I'm pretty sure human beings have always been pretty freaky.”

Yami threw his head back and _cackled_ , a laugh from deep within his belly that it shook his whole body. “Yes! I can attest to that! I suppose I should say that humans these days are _exceptionally_ , _wildly_ creative in relation to their predecessors.”

Seto laughed. Yami's mirth was… _wildly_ contagious. “So, in response to our earlier topic, it only happens when a vampire is _trying_ to be ‘seductive’?”

Yami leaned his jaw on his knuckles. His violet eyes still glittered with laughter. “I guess you shall see tomorrow, will you not?”

Seto gulped.

What was that supposed to mean?

* * *

Blood sprayed everywhere. It drenched him, dark and hot and cold. The bitter tang filled his mouth and spilled past his teeth. He was drowning. He screamed, but it only gurgled.

Red eyes flashed, black talons swiped and tore. They gripped his shoulders, frigid. Steely. White fangs glistened in moonlight. Shadows melted away, red cooled to purple. Cold hands caressed his suddenly bare chest. Half-lidded violet irises.

“Se… to…”

He jerked awake, gasping. He was slicked with sweat. A _hot_ sweat.

His dream versions of Yami were merging. The shadow beast. The sensual creature. The frightful monster. The patient guardian.

Seto groaned and rubbed his hand on his face. The torrid heat was unbearable. He kicked the blanket and sheet off irritably.

He couldn't deny it anymore, could he?

* * *

“Where are we even going?” Seto snapped when Yami shooed him back to his room to “change into something more appropriate.”

“ _Dance Macabre_ ,” Yami replied.

“What?! I don’t know what the hell that is.”

“A night club. Wear something appropriate for a nightclub.”

“A night club?! I’ve never even been to a nightclub before!”

Yami’s brows furrowed, his lips pursed a bit. “Really?”

“Well, yeah! What would I gain from lying to you about it?! I’ve never had the time, the will, the desire, _or_ the energy to go waste my time at some grungy hole in the wall!”

Yami arched an eyebrow. “‘ _Dance Macabre_ ’ is _not_ some ‘grungy hole in the wall,’ I assure you. It is a fairly clean place, despite the traffic it typically receives.” Yami tilted his head. “It’s my preferred hunting grounds.”

Seto rolled his eyes. “Where you can prey on drunk young women.”

Yami raised a single slender finger. “And men. I do not discriminate.”

Seto slammed his door shut. “What do I even wear?” he mumbled to himself. What do people usually wear when they go to… nightclubs? He’d ask Yami, but there was no way he’d retract that rather sound door slam. A forest green V-neck and dark jeans that were on the… _tighter_ side would have to do. He grabbed one of favorite jackets, a navy trench coat, to go with it.

He opened his door and glanced down the corridor. The dusty warmth of rock and incense led him to Yami’s closed bedroom door. He lightly rapped his knuckles on the door. “Hey, I’m ready to go. Now we’re waiting on _you_ , old fart.”

The door swung open, and Seto had to pick his jaw off the floor.

A tight leather vest, black as the night, clung to Yami’s torso like a second skin. Every line of muscle on his chest was showcased in stunning detail. Leather pants hugged his legs, as if for dear life. A studded collar wrapped tight around his slender, defined throat. Matching bracelets decorated his wrists. The silver buckles winked dangerously in the light. He forced himself to look Yami in the eyes.

Which were lined with thick black kohl.

He looked like some exotic, alt-culture sex symbol.

Not that Seto would _ever_ verbally express that to him.

“It’s... _that_ kind of club?” he managed to croak out. He staunchly willed away the sudden heat flowing through his veins.

Purple eyes glittered and blinked. “No. These clothes simply enhance my allure.” He stroked a finger along a seam on the outside of his thigh. “I look very appealing in leather, apparently.”

“I think it would be _less_ revealing if you went _without_ clothing,” Seto muttered while he turned and walked away. Before he knew it, Yami was walking in step beside him. “I don’t dance.”

Yami snorted. “You do not seem like the type. It would be easier if you did, though.”

Seto grunted.

* * *

The lights of Domino City pulsed like electric fireflies in the night.

“Modern cities hold so much alien beauty,” Yami murmured. “As if the stars in the sky came down to possess husks of steel and concrete and haunt us with their austere glow.”

Seto glanced at the driver. The city lights reflected feverishly in the glass of those violet eyes. “That’s... poetic.”

“I have had a long time to assemble these thoughts, Seto,” Yami replied, smiled slightly.

Blue eyes traced down and lingered on Yami’s tricep bunching beneath his pale skin as he turned the steering wheel. Seto momentarily clenched his jaw and quickly looked away.

“We have arrived,” Yami announced.

 _Dance Macabre_ stood right on the corner. From the door, a long line unraveled. It stretched far beyond, to the next building over and then some.

“As if we can even get in,” Seto muttered. “People will recognize me,” he suddenly realized out loud. “I’m supposed to be missing.”

Yami smirked at him. “First of all, who do you think I am? Second, your sudden absence has not been announced to the general public. Trust in Mokuba. He has the situation under control.”

He parked the car and cut the ignition right by the sidewalk.

“Hey, I’m pretty damn sure that sign says ‘No Parking,’ old fart!” Seto barked as he shoved his door open.

“Always one to jump to conclusions,” Yami said in mock consternation. He wagged his finger.

Seto growled. “Wag your finger at me again and I’ll bite it off, you fucker.”

“You are particularly violent tonight. Perhaps it was a bad idea to bring you out hunting. You might rid unsuspecting humans of their fingers.”

Yami tossed the keys to a waiting man. His skin glowed under the lights of the city, contrasted starkly against the dark leather. Seto gritted his teeth. He wanted to punch a hole in the nearest wall.

“The usual spot, Master Muto?” the man asked with a polite smile.

“Indeed,” Yami said, and the valet slid into the driver’s seat.

“‘Master’ Muto?” Seto asked. His brow was cocked up high.

Yami rolled a shoulder. Seto watched his scapulae shift like wings under the leather of the vest. “I’m a partial owner of this establishment.”

“Hn.”

They walked to the entrance, past the long line, and Yami gave a short nod to the doorman. The burly beast of a… vampire (Seto realized with a start) lifted the rope for them.

“I hope you enjoy your time here, Master Muto,” the doorman rumbled.

Seto stiffly followed the other man into the gaping maw of darkness. The outer walls must have been soundproofed, because as soon as they crossed the threshold, the throb and wobble of music thickened the air. Seto furrowed his brows. It seemed extraordinarily loud, to the point where it should have been painful, but it wasn’t.

“What the hell…” he muttered. Yami glanced over his shoulder. Seto knew that if he were human, he would not have been able to see him at all.

“What is it?”

“Why don’t my ears hurt? The music is so damn loud.”

“While our hearing is amplified from its mortal counterpart, our sensitivities to loudness, even pitch, have been diminished,” Yami explained.

“Huh. I’d think that, if anything, the sensitivity would have increased,” Seto said quietly, mostly to himself. It made him wonder what other things he still had yet to learn about his senses.

“It is ironic,” Yami conceded. They quickly approached another door. Yami turned, his hand splayed out on the handle. A smirk bared his teeth. Fangs glinted in the dim, eyes flashed red. “I welcome you…” He pushed the door open. ”... to _Dance Macabre_.”

A sea of bodies undulated under panning black lights. Thick fog, colored pastel by the lights, descended from the black, abyssal rafters above to blanket the revelers in a murky haze. The thick beat of music, heavy and grinding, rhythmically pounded the floor and the walls and the very bodies of all present.

Yami stalked, with all the confidence of an apex predator, deeper into the heaving hoard. Seto trailed after, stunned by the sheer density of people.

No wonder Yami hunted here. Seto doubted he’d see the same face twice in that many hours.

Yami slithered to the thick of it, amongst the forest of flesh and mortality. He descended into the rhythm, limbs stroking and swaying through the thick beat. His skin glowed, ghostly, alluring, under the embrace of the black lights. Seto stood in the thick of it, a yard or so away, but the gap seemed to grow, _grow_ as the revelers flocked like moths to Yami’s dark, seductive, otherworldly radiance. He undulated, a bewitching flame on a pale candle.

His sensuously upturned face flickered between the constantly shifting humans. Half-lidded eyes, black in the dim, pierced Seto’s own gaze.

 _Dance_ , those lips mouthed.

Seto’s head shook curtly.

He’d already thought dancing ridiculous, but seeing that… alluring display made him feel even more… inadequate. The thought had his teeth gritting and grinding angrily.

 _Damn you, Yami_.

Seto whirled away and stalked up to the bar. Shelves upon shelves of alcohol stood stacked in ultraviolet backlighting. Red light splashed down onto the black bartop, contrasting itself against the blue- and purple-tinted dancefloor.

The bartender, a tall woman, with luscious blonde hair, smiled at him.

Fangs. A vampire.

“What can I get ya, hon?” she asked.

Seto’s eyebrow twitched. He might have once actually ordered a drink, but now… he didn’t dare a taste. “I’m just… getting away from _that_.”

“I saw you come in with Yami,” she mentioned, smirked lecherously. “Getting his bed warm?”

That sentence summoned lurid, _unwanted_ images. He snarled. “No, not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You _reek_ of him. You’ve gotta at least be feeding from him. _Frequently_.”

His face flushed, icy cold. He remembered what Yami said. That feeding from other vampires could be construed this way, particularly if the blood was taken from the neck. “So? That doesn’t give you any right to open your mouth and blurt whatever you want.”

She laughed. She seemed to be ignoring all other customers in favor of him, but the other bartenders easily picked up her slack. “Oh, honey, you don’t have a clue in the world, do you?”

His gums ached sharply, and he realized his fangs were starting to descend in his anger. “What the hell are you yammering about, woman?”

She sighed at him, in some mocking form of maternal exasperation. “Yami hasn’t given his blood in _centuries_ , honey. Others of our kind have wet dreams about that kind of opportunity.”

He cringed at her wording, and he forced the surprise off his face. He turned away from her, and, half-perched on a barstool, faced the dance floor. It didn’t take long to find the man in question.

Woman, men, all swarmed thickly around him. The bar was slightly elevated, just enough to see Yami, pressed tight to a woman’s back. His lips against her ear, eyes half-lidded. Hands at her hips. Her face, blissful, stirred as she said something. Seto could all but _hear_ Yami’s purring, seductive chuckle.

The back of Seto’s throat burned.

The blonde bartender made him sound so _chaste_ , so _conservative_.

But, out there, on the dance floor, was a lustful serpent.

Suddenly, those eyelashes lifted, violet seared into blue. A smirk seeped its way onto Yami’s lips. Light flashed off of fangs like a strobe. Yami stared right at him as his tongue flicked out, dragged against the young woman’s neck. She visibly shuddered in his arms. His lips moved again, mouthed over her skin, and she nodded enthusiastically.

Yami was leading her away by her wrist, into another hallway on the other end of the cavernous room.

Seto immediately stood and stepped down from the bar and its dias.

The bartender smirked after him.

As he navigated his way through the ever-moving crowd, the lights changed, suddenly red, dark, harder to see. The revelers roared their enthusiasm, and the riffs of a guitar rumbled over the speakers. A live band was now playing, but Seto hardly paid any mind.

What he _did_ mind, though, were the hands and other body parts that occasionally brushed against him.

Yami was right. He just _might_ end up biting some fingers off before the night was through.

After much tumultuous swimming through the sea of people, Seto finally made it to the mouth of the hallway. An overwhelming presence of foreboding almost staggered him back. He gulped down the sudden dryness in his mouth. He forced his feet to continue forward. He stepped farther into the dark of the hallway.

The scent of blood, hot and _mortal_ , washed across his senses, and a feminine whimper tickled his sensitive ears. He saw Yami’s wild mane, his head tilted, mouth pressed to the young woman’s neck. Her shapely leg was hooked around his hip, her back to the wall. Seto’s jaw clenched. Yami softly undulated against her, ground his clothed hips into her.

She moaned, and her nails dragged along Yami’s leather-clad shoulders. Fangs disengaged from her neck, and he lapped at the wound, kissed up her throat to keep up the pretense of sensual necking, before he bit down on the puncture again. Her body lurched, arched, her hips fluttered. Her face, tilted toward Seto’s wide gaze, was awash with ecstasy, and her lips parted wider, gasping, when Yami bit harder.

_Is that how… Yami…_

The memory of Yami’s arching, writhing body burned his flesh. The thought of that sharp face with such a blissful expression set Seto’s veins ablaze.

Yami suddenly gripped her pelvis, tugged her hard against him, and she tensed before immediately melting. Her hands loosened on his shoulders, dragged down sensually.

Seto’s face was hot. Did she just…?

Yami drew away from her, though her arms stayed linked around his neck. He glanced at Seto. His eyes were flickering crimson and _smirking_ , like the cat that caught the mouse.

“Mmmm…” she hummed sensually. “That was _amazing_.” She had the modesty to blush deeply. “I’ve never… not from just…”

Seto stared at her neck. The bite was hidden amongst a cluster of dark hickeys. Clever.

She seemed languid, both from her completion and the loss of blood, if a little punch-drunk, as she giggled. Her hands slid down to fondle the seat of Yami’s pants. He snatched her wrists and held them away from himself.

He grinned, charming, even as his tongue swiped the last of the blood from his teeth. “I do believe you have had too much to drink, my dear.”

She giggled again. “Mmmm… no.”

“Mmmm… yes,” Yami purred back. He gently led her by her wrist. “Let's find your companions.”

When she spotted Seto, her face flushed even more deeply. “Who… who…?”

Those red eyes faded to purple, but they still felt so intense as they met blue. “My own companion.”

“He's handsome, too,” she slurred. “Are all the people you know beautiful?”

“We are all beautiful, yours and mine, even the wretched,” he replied.

Seto drifted after the pair. Yami, ever patient, calmly replied to the young woman's incessant babbling.

“Will I ever see you again?” she asked.

“Only in your dreams.” He stopped and nudged her to the bar. “Go, my dear. Your companions are waiting for you.”

She giggled over her shoulder and staggered away.

Yami stood and watched, made sure she safely reached her friends.

“What a fucking weirdo,” Seto mumbled.

Yami chuckled. “She was already under the influence of alcohol and marijuana. The blood loss made quite the concoction.”

“Not to mention the orgasm…” Seto growled. “Was that _necessary_ , by the way?”

Yami's face turned to him. The elegant, pale planes of his cheeks were stained red by the lights. “No. It wasn't exactly intentional, either.” He crossed his arms. “But, if they are going to have their life fluids forcibly drained from them, I suppose they have every right to take pleasure in it.”

“Hn.”

Yami turned back to the dance floor. “Another…” he murmured.

Seto stared, incredulous. “ _Another_?”

Yami cocked an eyebrow. “I've been feeding for two, Seto. Yes, another. Since you don't seem too keen on hunting for yourself, you can sup from whoever I manage to--”

“Whoever you manage to _seduce_ ,” Seto grumbled, teeth gritting hard.

Yami leveled him with a stern look. “When you can hunt on your own, you may find your own way to do it.” Even his lips seemed tight as he spoke. “ _This_ is the method I find to be the most humane. The sensual memories, if they remember anything, are far better than lasting nightmares of almost having their throats ripped out. _This_ way, I can ensure that in their weakened states they are not preyed upon by far worse predators than I.”

Seto growled, face flushed at the reprimand. He stayed silent.

* * *

The young woman hung on Yami's shoulders sensually. He had led her up to the bar, by Seto, and while she showed interest in him, she seemed far more intrigued by Yami.

It probably didn't help that Yami looked like _Eros_ incarnate.

The ancient vampire simpered down at her. He placed gentle, innocuous touches upon her, all of which seemed to enthrall her further, like the whispered words of an incantation. She giggled at something he said, in that proper, imperious way of his, and Seto resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Thank god that annoying bartender wasn't there to bother them.

“I'm sure your companions are wondering to where you have disappeared,” Yami murmured, hand sliding on the small of her back.

The woman shook her head. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulder at the motion. “No, I came here alone.”

Yami made a noise low in his throat. “How daring.” He leaned close, a dark grin on his face, and his nose brushed hers. “Even though there are wolves in the shadows, waiting to snatch up tender morsels such as yourself?”

Her hands splayed out on his chest. Her pale fingers contrasted starkly against the black leather. “Wolves like you?”

His chuckle purred on the air. The hairs on the back of Seto's neck stood up. “Precisely.”

Yami's head tilted to the side, and he languidly kissed her neck. Violet eyes met blue over her shoulder. They sparkled with a smirk. Fangs glinted as their curved faces dragged gently over fragile mortal flesh. She arched, gasped in his arms. His slender lips mouthed her flesh, flashes of tongue swiping her skin.

She moaned, and Seto tore his gaze away. He glared out over the sea of undulating bodies.

He heard Yami murmur, low, “Would you mind a… relocation?” Seto whipped his head back over.

The woman was pliant, melted in Yami's arms, her cheek resting on his shoulder. “Where to?”

His hands continued sliding and caressing her back and sides, weaved his spell of seduction. He kissed her exposed shoulder again. “There is a hotel not too far from here.”

Seto stared hard. What the hell was Yami doing?

“Mmm, I'm _definitely_ up for that,” she purred, nails dragging down Yami's leather vest.

He smirked, sharp, hungry.

Seto shivered. That was the grin of a bloodthirsty predator.

Before long, Yami was leading them out of the club. The young woman was wrapped tightly around Yami's arm, and she shivered melodramatically in the relative chill of the night.

Seto glared at her.

The valet spotted them and quickly left to retrieve the vehicle.

Seto met Yami's gaze and his molars ground together harshly. “Can I speak with you privately?”

They left the woman by the curb, and stood a few yards away. Yami kept an eye on his prey.

“What the hell are you doing?” Seto hissed.

“Hunting,” Yami replied.

Seto feared he would crack a tooth at this rate. “Of course you’re going to be fucking difficult about this.” He glared down at the other vampire’s sanguine face. “Is it really necessary to bring her to a goddamn hotel?”

Yami cocked a brow. “Would you feed on her in public? In that hallway?”

Seto snarled, automatic, “No.”

“Then I haven’t much choice, do I?” Yami replied. “ _You_ are the one being difficult, Seto Kaiba. You will _have_ to learn to feed from mortals, especially if you ever want to return to your life with Mokuba.”

Seto turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Fucking hell. Yami was right. About all of it.

Anger still curled in his chest. _Why_ was he having such a hard time about this? It’s not feeding itself. He fed from Yami without fuss.

He took a deep breath to try and abate the frustration. “Okay.”

Yami locked eyes with the woman. She waved shyly. He tipped his head in return. “Also, she came alone. I am not comfortable feeding from her here and leaving her vulnerable to the jackals that pick off the scraps.”

Seto rolled his eyes. He wanted to make a comment about Yami’s habit of picking up the strays.

But… that just so happened to include Seto…

“Why feed from her at all?” Seto countered.

Yami smirked up at his fledgling. “She’s easy, eager prey.”

Seto scoffed. “Jesus Christ.”

Yami’s head tilted. “Not quite. I’m a bit older than he.”

* * *

Seto gritted his teeth. Hot lips mouthed at his neck. The woman, drunk on alcohol and whatever the fuck Yami did to her, was suddenly _very_ interested in him.

He glared at the front seat, where Yami was passive and driving as serene as ever.

A slender hand snuck under the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, you're so cold,” she murmured, hot breath brushing over the ear she kept trying to gnaw on. “Let me warm you up…”

Her wrist felt so delicate under his hand, and he drew her away from him. He smiled stiffly, though he could tell by the twinge of his facial muscles that it was more of a snarl. She giggled, obviously took it as a challenge, and continued trying to lay her hands on his person.

The sweet scent of her perfume mixed strangely with the musk of her light sweat, but under it all he could smell the crimson rush of hot blood in her throbbing veins. His fangs ached numbly. It had been more than forty hours since he last fed, and it was starting to take its toll, especially with a mortal so near and warm and _eager_.

A breathy sigh echoed in his ears. His lips were on her neck, and they mouthed hungrily over the arteries hidden beneath her delicate flesh. When he tasted the _barest, miniscule_ flavor of blood, he realized with a start that he was tasting Yami's saliva on her.

A spike of heat cut through him, but it dissipated when Yami took a bit of a sharper turn. Seto was pressed back against the corner of the door and the seat, the human woman sprawled on top of him. She giggled, and her tongue curled out to flick at his jaw.

The proximity was obviously exciting her; her heart throbbed ever louder in her chest. A purr rumbled in his chest, and he nuzzled her throat, his long fingers splaying over the back and sides of her slender neck.

Violet eyes glanced in the rearview mirror.

Her hands rubbed sensually at his chest, and, with a growl, he gracefully spun them. He pinned her wrists above her head, against the door, and hunkered down to draw his longer-than-normal tongue along the tendons on her neck.

He could _feel_ her pulse under his tongue.

“Seto, wait,” Yami commanded. The tone was stern, and it brooked no protest.

Seto snorted indignantly, but obeyed, drew away to sit back against the seats.

The woman panted, flushed. “It's okay. There's enough of me to go around, boys.”

Yami chuckled. “You would be surprised, my dear.”

She chuckled, sultry, and sat up to lean between the front seats. “Surprised by what?”

“How _demanding_ my companion can be,” Yami purred seductively back, husky. “He'll devour you whole if you give him the chance.” He met Seto's gaze in the rearview mirror. “Trust me, I've had first-hand experience.” He winked, then violet irises were trained on traffic.

Seto's face flushed. Jesus Christ, did Yami _have_ to make it sound like they did… _that?!_

The woman moaned. “That's hot.” She gave Seto a flirtatious side-eye. “Will I get to see any of this?”

Seto's jaw ticked and he quickly looked out the window.

Yami's chuckle rippled through the reawakened tension in the atmosphere. “We shall see.”

Thankfully, they pulled into the parking lot of a hotel. It was towering, grand, lined all the way up with ornate balconies that soared high into the starry sky. Another valet accepted Yami's keys, and the trio entered the building, the woman clinging to Seto's arm. Warm, yet opulent architecture decorated and structured the inside.

The receptionist smirked knowingly at Yami. “The usual?” She seemed a little surprised by Seto's presence, but then her grin took a turn for the even more perverse.

“Yes,” Yami replied, and the receptionist immediately handed a key card over.

“You know what room it is.”

“Indeed, I do.”

The trio made it to a lavish elevator. The woman all but glued herself to Seto’s front. She was too short to effectively kiss his jaw and neck, so she settled for the patch of collarbone bared by Seto’s disheveled v-neck.

“I’m so excited,” she breathed, “I’ve never had a threesome before.”

If it weren’t for the hot crimson scent wafting up to his sensitive nostrils, Seto would have shoved her away. Instead, he stooped a bit to nuzzle her throat and drag his teeth along her flesh. She shuddered and gasped and _clung_ , a live wire, in his arms.

The door dinged, and Yami nudged them forward. The woman latched onto Yami’s arm for the time being as they walked down a grandiose hallway. Yami stopped at a door and deftly swiped the card key through the reader.

As soon as they were in the room, before the door even close fully, the young woman was peeling her tight shirt off. She backed up into Seto’s chest, and his arm reflexively went around her waist at the jostle.

Hot, bare, flushing mortal flesh. Seto’s fangs ached.

Yami stalked up to her front. His violet eyes gleamed darkly, and they burned crimson at the centers. Her hand eagerly slid over his shoulders, her arms around his neck. His own hand caressed up her neck, kneading with sensual danger over her jugular, before tangling in her long ebony hair.

Seto watched the muscles in Yami’s arm tense. He yanked her head back by a fistful of dark locks.

She gasped, moaned, arched against that leather-clad body and Seto’s arm. Seto could hear her nails dragging along Yami’s vest. He watched as Yami’s lips, now seeming so red in contrast to his pale skin, roved hungrily up her proffered, prone neck, under her jaw and chin, and finally onto her lips. One chaste kiss, and her body went completely slack. Her weight was being held up only by Yami’s hand in her hair and the arm Seto still had banded around her waist.

Crimson eyes flashed up to Seto, and Yami drew away.

“What did you do to her?” Seto asked, and he shifted his hold to pick the woman up damsel-style. One of her arms dangled limply.

“I sedated her,” Yami replied. With a languid wrist, he gestured to the large bed in the room. “Lay her down.”

Seto gingerly did so, laid her down on the white comforter. She sank down comically in the fluffy blankets. He hovered over her, one knee on the bed. With a long finger, he pushed her sable tresses away from the flesh of her throat.

He could see the veins throb in time with her heart.

“Why did you sedate her?” Seto spoke around the fangs elongating from his gums. She seemed more than willing to be… nibbled on.

Yami’s firm hand settled on his shoulder. The bed dipped with Yami’s weight when he climbed on to kneel next to his fledgling. “So she would not hear me coaxing you to partake of her blood.”

Seto stared down at her. Perhaps before he would have needed more coaxing, but now… he was all riled up. He hunkered down lower, one arm sneaking under her to lift her up. He paused, looked up at Yami. “Like how I feed from you?”

Yami’s hand petted his hair comfortingly. “Perhaps a little gentler. She’s more delicate than I.”

Seto blinked and looked back to his prey. He could feel it, even as he held her, that Yami’s statement rang true. Fragile human bones, the tenuous structure of tendons and muscle.

Not the firm strength of Yami's immortal body.

Suddenly nervous again, Seto gulped. Yami's and trailed from the rich brown hair to Seto's spine.

“Go ahead, Seto,” Yami was leaning down close, his lips nearly touching Seto's ear. “Feed.”

Seto adjusted his hold on the woman. She was sprawled limply in his arms, her head tilted back and hair pooling across the bed. He nuzzled her throat, lapped, and with utmost caution, his fangs slipped into her flesh. Hot blood flooded his mouth in a wet burst.

Even sedated, she arched and gasped.

He'd partook of Yami's hot, aroused blood, but this was far different. He felt her pulse tickling the nerves in his fangs, and it caused him to tighten his jaws the slightest. He swallowed and sucked, and she moaned weakly. Her warmth percolated through him. It made his every muscle and tendon tremble, harp strings plucked by firm nails. His hand clenched in her hair. He felt in explicit detail the glossy slide of the strands between his fingers, the lapping of blood against his cheeks and teeth between each swallow, the rhythmic press of her a chest against his with every breath.

The fluttering of her pulse steadily weakened, and when Yami's hand gripped his shoulder, he disengaged, whipped himself to the side. He landed on his back on the mattress. Each breath heaved from his lungs, and his spine tightened and arched in near-pain. His sight pulsed and wavered with intensity and color, and warmth flooded his veins in tempo with the visual distortions.

Yami’s purring chuckle was somehow both harmonious and cacophonous, and seemed so close though Yami was a little more than a yard away. “Her blood is good, is it?”

Seto touched his forehead, squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the euphoric vertigo.

The woman whimpered a little, and Seto peeked an eye open. Yami was gently cradling the woman in his arms. His pink tongue traced up the little rivulets of blood trailing down her neck. He cleaned her wounds with methodic grace.

“It’s…” Seto began, but his voice was thick and hoarse, so he cleared his throat. “It’s nothing like feeding from you.”

Saliva glistened on Yami’s lips after he licked them slowly. “She _is_ mortal. Also, you are accustomed to feeding from me. Other vampires would be incapacitated for several hours after consuming my blood.”

Seto looked at the ceiling. His breath was starting to slow. “Jesus. Makes your blood sound like a powerful narcotic.”

Yami stood, scrounged around in a couple of the drawers. “I suppose it is.”

Seto rolled onto his side. He settled his chin on his palm. “I suppose that makes me powerful, if I can withstand it.”

Purple irises glinted as they stared at Seto over a leather-clad shoulder. “Potentially.”

Seto watched Yami pull out a pad of paper and a pen. With a blink, he realized that it would be his first time seeing Yami actually _write_. After all, Yami couldn’t just carry his typewriter with him everywhere. Though Seto was sure he would if he could.

Seto unsteadily stood. His knees felt like jelly. With Yami’s short stature, Seto could easily look over his shoulder.

Scrawling, elegant flourishes, easily legible.

_‘Worry not about the room; it’s covered. Feel free to partake in the wet bar and continental breakfast. My companion and I certainly enjoyed our night with you. Pardon the hickeys._

_\-- Y & S”_

A snort. “Way to let her off easy. Won’t she remember _not_ getting laid last night?”

Yami cocked an eyebrow. “She won’t remember _most_ of last night, so it will not truly matter.”

“And we will just leave her here.”

“Yes. She is safer here than in her own home.”

Yami carefully removed the woman’s high heels and shorts before he tucked her into the bed.

“How long will it take her to recover?” Seto asked quietly. Back when he was… human, he would donate blood whenever possible. Recommended three moth recovery time. Not that Seto let that stop him.

“A week, give or take a couple days. Our saliva contains erythropoietin which--”

“Stimulates red blood cell production.”

“Yes.”

“Hn. How circular.”

“Quite.”

The quiet conversation continued as they left the room and walked down the hall.

* * *

A sharp smile, hard eyes.

“You’ve failed thrice too many times. First, the PaniK incident. You heedlessly alerted the Pharaoh to our plans. Second, you allowed Seto Kaiba to slip from our clutches. And now, Weevil and the others’ demise,” the white-haired man counted off on slender fingers.

Pegasus sputtered, aghast. “You cannot _possibly_ blame me for their insubordination--”

“Well, Dartz does. And so do I. Your weak leadership is the root of many of our problems,” the man hissed back. “We were hoping you would at least be competent; you have something we need. Now it certainly seems simpler to take it by force.”

“As if I would let you--” Pegasus began, but the vertigo slammed into him. The world tilted onto its side, and he watched through messy silver hair as he wilted into his chair.

Shadows lapped and crawled. Pegasus shivered. Maniacal laughter.

“As if you have to _let_ me do anything, Pegasus.” The man crouched a bit to meet the Strigoi’s drooping gaze. “You’re not the only one with a powerful artifact. Though I suppose you won’t be having it much longer.”

Pegasus couldn’t even scream when his Eye was ripped out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What a hell of a day  
> To embrace disorder,  
> And there is something in your eyes that burns…”  
> \- Dark All Day, Gunship
> 
> The plot thickens! Seto is finally becoming more independent! Yami being his sexy vampire lord self! And was that Mai that snuck herself in there…? Yes, actually.
> 
> See ya next time!


	11. My Eternal Night

Shoulder leaned against the frame, Seto stood in the doorway of the lounge. He shook his head.

Yami was sprawled across a settee, fast asleep, an open book on his chest.

Seto quietly approached. He picked up the heavy tome, closed it, and set it on the end table. He gently slipped one arm under Yami's shoulders, the other under his knees. Rock and incense inundated his senses. Yami's head lolled against his shoulder, bared his slender throat.

Seto stared.

It'd been more than a week since last he fed from the other vampire. Seto, in his tired, sleepy state, could readily admit to himself that he _missed_ it. The _ease_ , the _intimacy_. He had little reason to get this close to his sire anymore.

It was with tender care that he carried Yami from the lounge. Thankfully, Yami now kept his bedroom door unlocked, so Seto easily nudged it open and crossed the threshold. Before he laid Yami on the bed, he relished the weight in his arms.

Yami felt so small in Seto's embrace.

Seto tucked the other man into bed. And he paused again to let his eyes linger on the smooth planes of Yami's face, on the pristine expanse of his pale throat. One hand caressed the side of his neck. The skin was so smooth. He leaned down, and with closed eyes, pressed his lips to the corner of jaw and neck, where Yami's carotid artery lie dormant.

He stood, face flushed cold, but couldn't seem to move. He went to walk from the room, but ended up on the other side of the bed. He climbed on top of the blankets and exhaustion overtook him.

He'd get up before Yami awoke, he promised himself.

He drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_The hot desert air was filled with the clashing of metal and the tearing of flesh. The air smelt of hot sand and sweat and blood._

_He dislodged his spear from his enemy, and whirled just in time to catch a blade against his bronze shield. He jabbed the spear under, impaled his assailant through the chest. With a roar of exertion, he surged forward, charged his opponent to the ground. His heart thumped too hard for him to feel the pain or notice his own blood slicking his leather armor to his skin._

_He yanked the spear back again. He gouged the sky with its tip, arm held high._

_“For the gods! For Khemet!” he bellowed._

_His troops cried back, an ocean of frenzied voices, “For the gods! For Khemet!”_

* * *

Violet eyes blinked open wearily. He felt oddly cozy, and he realized he somehow ended up in bed. He sighed through his nose and shifted a bit, rubbed his cheek on his pillow. His toes curled under the blankets. The slight, comforting pressure of weight banded across his waist. An arm.

Seto.

Slowly and carefully, he rolled over.

Seto slept on top of the covers, nearly snuggled into Yami’s back.

Yami smiled, gently petted the soft brown hair and the smooth pale cheeks. He had wondered just how well Seto was taking the sudden distance. Even Yami had some trouble reading the stony, no-nonsense exterior. But it seemed Seto missed the physical intimacy of feeding, too.

Yami pressed his lips to the cool forehead. He slithered from the sheets. Seto shifted in his sleep, and nuzzled into a pillow.

Yami silently opened a drawer and picked up some loose linen pants.

He stretched, peeled off his shirt on the way to the en suite bathroom. His numerous scars ached and tingled, though they’d been fully healed for thousands of years. He grimaced,  rubbed one curling over his ribs and onto his back. He closed the bathroom door, stripped down fully and stepped into the shower.

The water was cool at first. He sighed, hummed with pleasure as the temperature steadily increased. The warmth percolated through his cold body. He allowed the hot rain to fall directly on his face, before he slowly moved his head back for the stream to wash down his neck. The water heater was the greatest human invention to date, he was sure.

He cleansed his entire body with a ritualistic precision. Before long, he was stepping out and patted himself dry with a towel. He pulled on the dark linen pants and tugged the drawstring tight. He opened the door. Steam curled and billowed out into the bedroom like a great breath in the cold. Seto was still fast asleep on the bed, though now he had nearly burrowed himself into the sheets that Yami formerly occupied.

Yami walked to the hallway, quietly closed the door behind him. His bare feet padded softly on the cold stone floor. His temple was dark and smelled faintly of wax and burnt wicks. The fading scent of incense easily overpowered it all. One-by-one, he lit the candles with a single finger. The soft, chanting words of an ancient tongue lilted and swayed on the air, his lips moving in but a murmur. The yellow and orange glow built into a soft, tender luminescence that embraced the dwindling shadows of the room.

With but a touch, he ignited the incense in the bowls to a smolder. He knelt on the cushion and gazed up to the statues lining the altar.

The candlelight danced along the feathers of the winged woman standing center. Her unmoving, colorless eyes seemed fixed to the man kneeling before her. Yami’s eyes closed in a slow blink, and her afterimage lingered in purples and greens in the darkness behind his eyelids. A steady inhale, his cold lungs expanded with air scented by candles and incense. A slow exhale.

He could sense them all, shifting, readying themselves for the oncoming night. He felt, too, the shadows draping all things in their dark half-embrace. They fluttered and stirred beneath his attention, but deeper still he dove. He reached for the warmth at the core, so enveloped by all else that he could barely graze the surface. It recoiled from his touch. He reached again. The strain was so familiar to his soul that it fell over him like an old jacket.

Before his closed eyes, the image emerged as if from the murky depths of an abyss. A golden throne twinkled in the sunlight cast upon it in a brilliant halo. A white bird perched at its shoulder. A kite, in all its lithe, predatory glory. The unwavering orange eyes gazed down upon him. It’s talons gripped hard at the throne, made little scratches into the gold surface. He reached in supplication, bowing his head.

Feathers fluttered.

He looked up.

The grayscale wings unfurled and flashed, and the bright sunlight pouring into the room reflected in a dazzling display. Up, it soared away, into an opening in the stone ceiling, into the glaring sunlight. Its mournful cry echoed faintly. Darkness descended, washing away all traces of brilliant gold until he had nothing but the memory of dazzling white.

His eyes opened to the harsh glow of the candles. He breathed raggedly, face twisting, eyes stinging as he stared at the emotionless statue. A blink, and cold red twined down his pale cheek.

He slumped forward, on his hands and knees, chest heaving. A drop of red splashed onto the stone. He looked back up at the statue.

“Why do you spurn me?” his voice wavered, broke. He jolted back up. He barely felt the rim of an incense bowl digging into his fingers before he was throwing it. “ _Why?_ ” The fragile ceramic immediately shattered when it collided with the stone wall. Shards of porcelain and flecks of ash scattered about violently. More and more red trekked down his face, onto his chest and the floor. With a stricken roar, he lunged at a tall candelabra, grabbed it by its brassy staff, and hurled it to the ground. It clattered metallically across the stone, and the candles popped off. The flowing wax smothered the small flames.

He sobbed, an ululating cry, and the flames of the candles surged higher. He collapsed to his knees, held his face in shaking hands. When his palms dampened, he looked down.

Blood on his hands.

There was always blood on his hands. No amount of cleansing could erase that.

Eternity could not make these stains fade.

* * *

Seto jolted to wakefulness when he heard the commotion. A heart-wrenching sob seemed to shake even the very foundation of the church. He scrambled up.

Yami.

He whipped the bedroom door open and rushed into the hallway. Yami stumbled from another doorway, and caught himself heavily on the wall with one hand.

The coppery, dark scent of blood.

Seto could hardly speak, could only watch those shoulders shake. He inhaled heavily, and Yami’s head snapped toward him.

Dark, blackish red stained his face in wet tracks. Some places were smeared heavily.

Yami was… crying.

Seto’s lips parted, but the edges of Yami’s form wavered, and he faded into the shadows. His roiling, unsteady presence rushed past Seto with enough force to make him stumble. Yami’s bedroom door slammed, and the lock turned with an audible _click_.

Seto blinked. On the wall, a bloody handprint marked the stone were Yami had touched it. He approached cautiously. He glanced into the room. His lips parted again. One of the incense bowls was clearly smashed, its pieces scattered across the stone floor. A candelabra was knocked over, and with enough force to bend one of the arms and send the candles attached rolling all over the place. All of the candles were still lit.

He stepped inside, decided to blow them all out one-by-one, if he had to. There were visible scorch marks near each one. They must have flared up strongly enough to leave ash on the stone walls. When he made it to the candles on the altar, he stared at the statuettes.

What could have affected Yami so? Stoic, patient Yami.

Seto sighed, blew out the last of the candles. He set the lid for the remaining incense bowl on it to smother the last of the smolder.

Something in Seto’s chest ached and burned. He let Yami see him on the edge of emotional breakdown, but it seemed Yami wouldn’t allow the same situation to be reversed.

Something acidic stung the back of his throat, but he could sympathize all too much.

He shook his head. When he stepped back into the hallway, his acute hearing picked up the sound of water rushing through the pipes.

He paused in front of Yami’s door, but ultimately decided to keep walking.

* * *

Seto was reading in the lounge when Yami finally emerged. His ears all but pricked up, he looked at the doorway over the edge of his book. Yami, in the flesh, stormed down the hall. Seto’s brows furrowed tight. He’d never seen such a pace from the rather languid man.

He set his book down and hurried to follow. A door at the end of the corridor swung on its hinges. Feet clattered up metal stairs. Seto peered up. A spiral staircase, and he could see Yami’s silhouette ascending higher and higher. Seto raced up after him. “Where the hell are you going?” he called.

“Out,” Yami replied. He didn’t slow his breakneck pace up the stairwell.

“From the roof?” he said, and then remembered the heron. “Nevermind.” A tear-stained face lurked behind his eyelids. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I must do something,” Yami said.

Seto wasn’t sure how to interpret that. There was something Yami had to do? Or did he have to do _something, anything_? Maybe it was both. Either way, he finally caught up to his sire, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Yami was letting himself get caught.

He reached out, gently gripped Yami’s forearm, stopped him in his tracks.

“Let me go with you,” Seto said quietly to Yami’s back.

A slight turn of that pointed chin, and Seto could could see a quarter-angle of a solemn face. “Where I am going, you should not follow.”

“Why the hell not?” Seto said, and as rough as he wished it would come out, it was gentle.

Yami shrugged off his hand. “Only I can atone for my sins.”

“What are you talking about?”

But Yami was already back to storming up the steps. He burst through the door at the top. Seto was just a few steps behind.

A belfry, minus the bell it once housed.

Yami was crouched on the low railing. Seto reached out, but before his very eyes, flesh melted into shadow, molded into feathers. Wings spread into the sable night. Feathers caressed the chilled air with the softest of flutters. He was soaring off, away, into the dark.

Seto’s hands clenched around the railing, and he watched until his keen eyes could no longer see the fading silhouette of the forlorn bird.

He rubbed his face.

* * *

The man lowered his binoculars. “He just flew away.” He grimaced. The position they were in definitely allowed them to see the Pharaoh depart, but it didn’t allow them to see the belfry itself. The thick railing was at an awkward angle, and a stupid cross-topped spire was in the way. “You picked a terrible spot, Alister.”

The other man scoffed at him. “It was the safest place. If we got too close, he’d sense us, just like he did Rex.”

The third man, towering and broad, shook his head at the two. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone now. We’ll wait a little longer before we enter. The Pharaoh needs to get out of range.” His dark eyes narrowed upon the solemn church. “We’ll find the Millennium Pendant. It has to be in there somewhere.”

* * *

Yami landed, crouched upon the roof.

He could sense them.

The aftermath of PaniK’s scourge.

Suppressing his power to avoid detection, he slunk along the rusty metal roof of the abandoned warehouse. He snarled silently. His fangs glinted silver in the moonlight. He reached out, traced their essences. Yes, they were all here.

A Strigoi’s hivemind mentality made it easy to slaughter them all in one fell swoop.

He easily crawled over the edge of the roof, onto the wall. He moved to a window, nothing but shards of glass in a wooden frame. He glanced within. The figures all stood relatively still. They’d dragged their enthralled prey to their den.

And they were drinking them to death.

Yami’s breath hissed out from elongated fangs. What abuse. But this was the last group, the last remnants of PaniK’s unchecked bloodlust.

Flesh faded into shadow, and he slipped through the broken glass like a slithering black snake. He crept along the ceiling. Darkness fluttered out, shadows unfurling like great wings across the corrugated metal. Red eyes glowed.

And he let is power ooze from him, untamed and unleashed.

The vermin below paused like startled deer. Stinger-tongues undulated in the air.

Then he descended, an enraged beast on sinister wings.

They hissed and shrieked, animalized like the mindless drones they were. Black blood splashed and slashed onto the walls and floors. Nothing could escape the gruesome spatter. Yami caught a tongue in his clawed fist, and with but the slightest twist and pull, he ripped it clean from the parasite’s skull. Viscera spilled across the ground when he raked his claws across another’s abdomen in a bestial fury.

The blood they spilled would no longer stain his hands.

* * *

Blue eyes stared through the text. The words simply didn’t register in his fumbling mind, though he instinctively turned the page when he reached its end. His thumb ran continuously over the edges of the pages. Their numerous ridges brought a tingling numbness to the pad of his thumb after some time.

That desolate sob echoed through his mind, a phantom in his ears. His unbeating heart clenched and his stomach turned. He shifted restlessly.

He suddenly looked up. A growing sense of trepidation and alarm fluttered inside him.

_Run. Run._

He gulped thickly, reminded of that breathless terror that first time Yami accosted him in the guise of that shadow beast. And realization struck him.

Vampires. Powerful ones. They made Weevil and his goons seem like ants.

He trembled in instinctual fear, but managed to slow his breathing just enough to concentrate. Three… There were three of them. They were approaching the church.

While the fear remained, he felt his hackles raise in territorial anger.

Even from there, he could hear them jiggling the knob on the doors to the chapel. Low voices, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Then the resounding crack of wood. They’d broken the door down.

He set his book to the side, hand trembling. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

Yami picked a bad night to throw a hissy fit.

Seto gritted his teeth. Jesus, he sounded so fucking _dependent, reliant_.

_I am Seto fucking Kaiba and I can take care of myself._

He stood, strode to the door. Down one hallway, another, and he was pushing open the door to the nave. The huge stained-glass windows dappled the chapel in colored moonlight, caught on the dust motes floating through the huge, abandoned space.

The tryad all turned at the sound of the door opening.

A man with wild brown hair tsked. “I told you I fucking sensed someone else here.”

Kaiba remained resolute, confident, and he cocked an eyebrow. “The real question is what the hell _you_ are doing here.”

A huge, brawny blond narrowed his eyes. “We’re here for the Pendant. If you show us where it is, we won’t have to kill you.”

Internally, Kaiba could admit that he was incredibly intimidated not only by the man’s sheer _size_ , but also by the aura of fatality that emanated from his stacked frame. “I don’t know that the fuck you’re talking about.” The Pendant? Yeah, no fucking clue.

The third man, his dark red hair stained different colors by the windows, sneered. “Do you really expect us to believe you?”

Kaiba snarled, fangs extending. “Why would I lie?”

The blond man blinked. “I can feel it. You’re the Pharaoh’s spawn. Pegasus really did mess up, didn’t he?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Of course, you would lie for your master.”

The Pharaoh? Kaiba hissed, “He’s no master of mine.”

“He picked quite the insolent one to give his blood to,” the blond man replied. “You’d think he’d at least find someone who would show him a little respect.”

“ _You_ don’t have any idea what the fuck you’re talking about, either, apparently.”

The red-haired man curled his nose with disdain. “Rafael, we should just kill him. He’s only going to get in the way.” Fangs glinted in the dappled light. “If he shares the Pharaoh’s blood, he should go down with him.”

Kaiba’s spine stiffened.

Dark eyes narrowed. “You make an excellent point, Alister.”

Kaiba growled. “What about your precious Pendant?”

The one with the wild hair shrugged. “We didn’t plan on you being here, so we obviously don’t need you to be able to find it.”

Suddenly, the blond was before Kaiba. “Either way, we need to finish this quickly. There’s no telling when the Pharaoh will return.”

Before he knew it, his fist was curling up, and he was swinging at the other man with all his might.

His hand was caught in a huge, cold, meaty palm. Dark eyes flashed, skin flushed a deep purple. “Rafael” twisted his arm. A sickening _crack_ split the air.

Kaiba’s breath hissed through his teeth, even as the gut-wrenching pain emanated up his arm, now twisted behind his back. A knee shoved itself into his spine, and his face met dusty stone floor. A surge of power burst through him, and he managed to wrangle his arm from the other man’s grip. On instinct, he straightened it. He cried out in pain, and the broken bone slotted back together.

He could feel it heal immediately.

“You truly have potential,” the man said, and he stomped his foot hard into Kaiba’s back to pin him to the ground. “I suppose that’s what happens when you drink straight from the immortal font.”

Kaiba snarled, clawed at the stone floor. Pinned like a fucking insect. Teeth gritted with effort, he rolled heavily to the side and managed to wrench himself from the other man’s hold. He rolled into a crouch, growled up at his assailant.

He could sense it. He wouldn’t be able to kill this man, not in this state.

But if he could only hold him off until Yami returned… he might live to see the next night.

* * *

Yami hefted the last body onto the roof of the warehouse. When the sun rose, they’d be but ash in the wind. Just where they belonged.

Yami sat, for a moment, drenched in blood, and stared up at the sky. In this area of the city, there were less lights, and the stars were just barely visible beyond the halo of the metropolis’ glow. His eyelids fluttered close, and he thought of deep blue.

He took a breath of night air.

He’d tell Seto. Seto… deserved to know.

He reached out, traced his own essence back to his fledgling.

And all he could feel was pain.

Violet eyes snapped open wide, and immediately he burst into the night, wings snapping open hard, blackened feathers falling down.

* * *

Kaiba gritted his teeth so hard, he thought his jaw would snap in two. He barely breathed, and each inhale tasted like blood.

“So the healing slows down as you lose blood? Fascinating,” Rafael said, lifting Seto up by a fist at his bloodied collar. He jabbed two fingers into the weeping gash on Kaiba’s side.

Kaiba bared his teeth, and then spat onto Rafael’s face. The dark, frothy saliva spattered onto his hard expression.

Rafael’s stony countenance did not shift, save for his nostrils flaring. His eyes narrowed. “I can smell it,” he rumbled. “You’re the closest one can get to drinking from the Pharaoh himself.” His fingers withdrew from Kaiba’s wound. He lifted the bloodied fingers to his face. He licked them slowly, contemplatively. “I wonder how much of his power I will get if I drain you dry.”

Kaiba weakly clawed at Rafael’s wrist. Black and green spots clouded the edge of his vision.

Rafael’s skin flushed dark purple, eyes flashing red, fangs extending from his upper jaw. He pulled Kaiba close, and Kaiba scrambled to push the bigger man away, but his hands only weakly slipped on his chest.

Cold breath fanned Kaiba’s neck.

Kaiba squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to die.

Glass shattered in a burst. Rafael dove to the side, and Kaiba crumpled to the floor without the support.

Black wings pumped powerfully, stirring winds to rival a tempest. Crimson eyes burned. The beast hovered in the air, the fury of the night itself.

Seto blinked up hazily. Yami.

“ _You dare invade my home! You **dare** lay a hand upon my chosen!” _The thunderous roar rattled the windows in their frames. The shadows flared and fluttered and stirred tumultuously.

Rafael scrambled back, purple-hued claws curled into a pew, which shivered in the strong gust.

The shadow beast dove down, smashed through the pew like an armor-piercing bullet. Wooden splinters showered the surrounding area. Rafael jumped back just in time to avoid certain death. Yami roared again, tearing through the pews, upending them, shattering some beyond repair.

The door to the abbey burst open, and the two other intruders came rushing in.

“Rafael!” the ginger called. He launched himself upon the enraged beast. He landed on its back, nails scoring the back of its neck and shoulders. Yami shook him off like a dog shook off water. Black wings pumped powerfully with stoked rage.

Sable claws wrapped into the man's collar, and, with a mighty toss, Yami sent him flying through a stain glass window.

The third bellowed a warcry, but he met a similar fate; he crashed into a stone wall and fell into a broken, crumpled heat. Rafael rushed to his side, slung him over his shoulder, and easily scaled the wall to escape through a broken window.

Yami surged after them, a tidal wave of furious shadow, but paused upon the sill when he heard a pained groan.

Seto.

Shadows melted away, and he knelt at Seto's side. His fledgling was wilted, slicked in his own blood, shivering with shock. He was dying.

Yami cradled him in his arms, cupped the bruised and bloodied face. “Seto, forgive me,” he choked.

Blue eyes blinked, hazy. “... Yami…”

“Drink of my blood,” Yami said breathlessly, cradled Seto's head to his neck. “Drink.”

The slight sting of fangs breaking his flesh, and then Seto was weakly drawing from his life fluids.

Yami petted the brown hair, lips chanting, “Forgive me, Seto, forgive me.”

* * *

When Seto came back to, his whole body ached. He weakly lifted his head. He was in a bathtub, shirtless. A warm cloth laved over his body. He blinked. Yami.

That sharp face was tilted down. Blond bangs obscured his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Yami asked softly.

Seto laid his head back, enjoyed the warmth of the cloth, even if it was wiping up his blood. “Fucking sore.”

Yami stood, walked to the sink. Water rushed through the faucet. The cloth remained under the water until it ran clear.

“What the fuck happened?” Seto asked quietly. He didn't know _what_ he was exactly referring to; Yami's breakdown, the attack on the church, Yami's return. He didn't know, but he sure as hell wanted some answers.

“Paradius,” Yami replied gravely.

Seto groaned. Yami had mentioned them before, and it completely slipped Seto's mind to ask about it. “The… real estate empire?”

“That is simply a front, a facade,” Yami said. “They are a coalition of vampires who convene in secret.”

“Not too secret if you know about it,” Seto muttered.

Yami snorted. “The Underworld is _my_ realm. One cannot so much as sneeze without my knowing about it.”

“What the hell do they want?” Seto murmured. “They mentioned some stupid… pendant or whatever.”

Yami returned, the cloth hot. It made Seto jump when it touched his chest. “At first, they were content with simply establishing vampiric safe houses all around the globe. That, I did not have a problem with. But their covens became greedy, feeding upon the mortals around them without mercy.” Yami gently drew the cloth along Seto's jaw. Seto found himself reflexively tilting his head back. “I exterminated them.”

Seto's eyes widened, his throat bobbing under the cloth. “... Exterminated…?”

Yami hummed. “Yes.” He stood up to rinse the cloth off again.

Seto stared at his back. His shirt was shredded around the neck and shoulders, though the entire thing was soaked with blood. _Black_ blood.

“They weren’t the only ones you exterminated,” Seto muttered.

Yami came back with the cloth.

His eyes seemed sunken, _exhausted_.

“That is true,” he said. He met Seto’s eyes. “This world would be awash in mortal blood if that of the rabid undead is not spilt.” He hesitantly sat on the edge of the tub. “I know I have not been forthcoming. About my past, my activities, or even the complexity of this world into which you have unwillingly joined.” His cold fingers brushed Seto’s chin. Those violet eyes gleamed, _beseeching_. “Please let me explain.”

Seto’s own voice was rough. “I didn’t exactly bother asking you anything.”

Yami smiled faintly. “It is only in your nature.”

Seto watched the cloth swipe in tight circles on his chest. He raised his eyes back up. “... Explain away.”

Yami bobbed his head. “As I said, I exterminated the problem groups. Which, honestly, was a vast majority of them. Paradius was infuriated. No longer did they seek simply to establish societies. They desired to put me to death, and, in the process, subjugate the entire human population to spite me. To make a vampiric ‘paradise,’ where they knew no limits, no fears.” Yami’s lips curled into a snarl. “No _laws_ , no consequences.” His eyebrow winged up. “Of course, it wouldn’t last even if they did manage it. They would drain away the mortals. All would either die or become the thirsty undead. And the vampires reigning the world would be forced to feed upon animals and each other. Neither of which are sustainable.”

Seto blinked. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Yami was right. The vampires would eventually kill all drinkable animals. Then, they would be forced to feed on one another. Even if they had the sense to leave one another alive, it would create an endless cycle of growing thirst as one vampire fed at the expense of another.

“It might work if they had self-restraint, but they do not,” Yami continued. “It is what makes them so incredibly dangerous.”

Seto’s eyes followed him when he stood again. He was almost tempted to tell Yami to hand over the cloth and just stop; he was more than capable of bathing himself now. But he didn’t say anything about it.

“Those vampires, the ones that attacked…” Seto began, eyes glazed and staring far off. “They were… very powerful. I could sense it.”

Yami nodded, lips set into a grim line. His hands were on the basin of the sink. “They were. They may be young undead, but they are second generation. Inherently powerful.”

Seto’s eyebrows scrunched up. “Second generation?”

“Two generations away from the first vampire. Their master was turned by the first vampire.”

Something about Yami’s tone made Seto’s breath still. “What am I?”

Yami slowly turned his head, purple eyes dark. “You are first generation.”

Seto flushed cold everywhere, and he shuddered, eyes wide. “That makes you…”

An incline of that sharp chin. “Generation zero. _I_ was the first vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaat?! :O
> 
> See ya next time!


	12. From the Pinnacle To the Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, the moment we have been waiting for… a little backstory. Or a lot. A LOT.

His mind turned over and over, delirious from the stunning truth and exhaustion. His injuries and blood loss still plagued him, even if he had apparently drunk from Yami in his wounded state. He stared with heavy eyelids as Yami finished cleaning him up.

“You’re… the first…” he echoed for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Yes,” Yami replied. He leaned forward, slipped an arm under Seto’s shoulders and his knees. Without a single strain, he lifted Seto from the bathtub.

Seto snorted. It was probably a ridiculous sight; a tiny man like Yami carrying a much taller man like himself. Seto let his head loll against Yami’s firm, cold bicep. “How did it even happen?” He shivered when Yami’s fingers caressed his bare shoulder with such minute motions he was unsure if it was even happening.

“I shall explain when you have recovered. You need your rest,” Yami replied quietly, and he walked steadily into his bedroom. He laid Seto on his bed. “You will rest here. After I clean up, I will join you. You may take from me as much as you need while you heal. It will help you recuperate.”

Seto could feel himself blush. “Okay.” He blinked heavily, wearily watched as Yami dug clean clothes out of dressers and drawers. He laid a pair of linen pants across Seto’s legs.

“Change into these if you think you have the energy. I will aid you if you feel you do not.” He walked back into the bathroom, closed the door behind him.

Seto gripped the soft linen between slender fingers. Rock and incense wafted up to his nose. Yami’s pants. They were the kind he wore when he prayed.

Everything ached as he shimmied his pants down his thighs. His breath hissed between his teeth, and he groaned as he sat up to pull them the rest of the way off. He huffed, breathless, head pounding, and half-heartedly folded the bloodied, dusty pants to drape them on the headboard. The other pair was slipped on with painstaking care.

Waistband pulled up sufficiently, Seto collapsed back against the blankets. He panted, pressed a hand to his forehead. He gritted his teeth. Water rushed through the pipes. Yami was taking a shower. The sound lapped at Seto's senses, lulled his eyes shut.

He'd never felt so exhausted before.

He sluggishly supposed that it was only to be expected after being so thoroughly tortured.

He drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Seto was asleep when Yami left the bathroom. He smiled at the dirtied pants draped over the footboard, picked them up and set them aside with his own ruined clothing.

The mattress creaked quietly under his additional weight, and he settled himself against the blankets. Seto shifted, groaned softly. He was trembling.

Yami inched closer, guided Seto's head to the hollow of his throat. Cold breaths fanned his neck, and he shivered. A chilly nose nuzzled him. Fangs. A slick tongue. The topical anesthetic of Seto's saliva numbed his skin and made it tingle. The silky brown hair he tenderly stroked tangled in his fingers, and his purple eyes slid closed when fangs slipped into his flesh.

Yami swallowed his gasp, but he couldn't stop his spine from arching weakly.

The gentle drain ended soon after, and Seto wearily nuzzled into Yami's throat. He sighed, cold breath fogging against Yami's pale flesh.

“My sweet fledgling,” Yami murmured in his native tongue, petting Seto's bare back, “so gentle you feed.” He laid his cheek against Seto's temple. “Even when you hiss and spit, your fangs are tender.” Even when his jaws tightened with hunger, his teeth were careful. What a contradictive man.

Seto's arm sluggishly draped across Yami's slender waist. Yami smiled faintly into Seto's hair.

* * *

Washing in and out of consciousness, like a restless night's sleep. Perhaps that's what it was. The details were hazy.

A lithe body against his own. The rich copper of ancient blood. Comforting words spoken in deep tones.

He blinked hazily. His eyelashes brushed cool, pale flesh. Long, thin fingers stroked along his spine, rubbed the skin into pleasant, tingling numbness. Breaths puffed against his crown.

“Yami,” he murmured, and his lips skimmed flesh with each movement.

“Seto,” came the quiet response, hand stilling for a moment before it continued with its slow petting. “How are you feeling?”

A sigh, and he felt his breath blow back against his cheeks in the close of Yami's throat. “Stiff, but better.”

Yami's cheek shifted, and Seto could feel Yami's jaw vibrating with his voice. “Do you need to feed again?”

Seto pressed his nose closer. Yami smelled like water and soap and skin. So tempting… “I'm fine now.”

Yami hummed. It resonated in his chest. He began to draw away.

Seto's hand tightened on Yami's hip. “Wait…”

A breath.

Seto's face flushed cold, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Yami settled back into the blankets. His fingertip traced along the subtle bumps of Seto's spine.

Seto blinked hard. Jesus Christ, what the hell was he doing? Cuddling with the _first vampire ever_.

Jesus, cuddling in general, after what had happened.

“Why did you storm off?” Seto asked quietly.

Yami's finger stilled. “... We should probably start this from the beginning.”

Seto's brows furrowed. “What? For even that?”

“Yes,” came the quiet reply. “You must know what I have done.”

Seto was the one who drew away this time. Blue eyes blinked up at that solemn face.

_Only I can atone for my sins…_

Yami stared back, unblinking. He completely withdrew from Seto, propped himself up on his elbow. “Do you need help sitting up?”

“No.” Seto managed it on his own. The soreness was all but gone. He leaned back against the headboard.

Yami stood, smooth the wrinkles from his shirt. It might have been Seto’s sleepy eyesight, but he thought he saw a subtle tremble in those long fingers.

Seto looked away, cleared his throat. “They called you ‘The Pharaoh.’”

A hum. “I don't imagine why. I haven't been a king in many long years. Not since I inadvertently became King of England.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Though that's a story for another time.” A tap of a finger on his hip. “Do you need help standing?”

Seto rolled his eyes and easily swung his long legs over the mattress, though he planted his feet with utmost caution. He glanced up and met the watchful violet eyes that surveilled his every movement. “But you were king of Egypt at some point?”

“Yes,” he replied, low, whisper-like. “Approximately forty-five centuries ago.”

“Give or take a few decades,” Seto mumbled, remembering their first visit back to the Kaiba manor.

Yami chuckled, traces of humor crackling through the gravity like hairline fractures on solid granite. “Yes.” He walked to the door. “I was a boy king. My father died when I was but thirteen.”

Seto followed. “Where are we going?”

“My temple. Thank you for cleaning it.” The smell of incense was still heavy on the air. Seto took a deep breath and wondered if the scent would ever not remind him of the man before him.

“Hn. You made quite the mess,” Seto mumbled.

Silence, Yami’s thoughts as mysterious as ever. They crossed the threshold. A snap of the fingers and the candles within burned bright.

Seto blinked, watched slender, pale fingers reorient the sparse furnishings with the most languid, graceful, and reverent of motions.

“Were you a good king?”

Yami stared back up at him. Those violet eyes blazed with intensity, but Seto couldn't look away. “I like to think that I was. I led my people in all things. Even at that age, I would join my soldiers in battle. Khemet was in a state of crisis. Even so, I devoted my mortal life to protecting my country.”

“Khemet…?” Seto asked.

Yami smiled faintly, replaced the incense in the remaining bowl. “That was its name, to us. It means ‘black soil.’”

Seto frowned. “How… how did you become a vampire?”

Yami slowly stood up, gazed steadfastly upon the idols lining the altar. “I know your skepticism. You won't believe me.”

Seto laughed, a bit harsh. “Fucking try me.”

Violet fire snapped to him and narrowed to slits. “Under the reign of my father took place a terrible miscarriage of power. My uncle slaughtered a village of robbers to forge terrible artifacts. From their blood and their immortal souls, he created these talismans with the most odious of black magic.”

Seto's eyebrows rose. “Black… magic…”

Yami's own dark eyebrow arched. “Sorcerers are all but extinct now, but yes.” He turned to fully face Seto. “A single boy escaped unscathed in body, but tainted in soul. He forsook the Pharaoh, god-king of Khemet, and all the other deities.” Yami's eyes grew hazy and distant. “It was as if Apep himself crawled into that man's skin.”

Seto snorted. Superstitious mumbo-jumbo. “What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

Yami met his gaze again. “Everything, Seto. This man waged war against Khemet. Not only did he have allies of men, he made allies of Apep and his unholy disciples.” Yami touched his side, were Seto knew a jagged scar lurked. “For nine years, I met him in battle. Though my people believed me to be Horus himself embodied, I saw, and still see, myself as only a servant of the will of the gods. It was my duty to defend their people.” Yami's eyes fell closed. “It was truly a miracle I survived for so long. But in the end, I gave my life to seal away his evil.”

“You died?” Seto echoed.

“Yes,” Yami replied, turned away. “What do you know of the story of Isis and Osiris?” His fingertip traced upon the stone wings of the central statue.

Seto blinked. The names were vaguely familiar. Mokuba was into stuff like this, not Seto. “Not much.”

“Osiris was Pharaoh of Khemet. His brother, Set, coveted the throne for his own. So he slaughtered his brother in cold blood. He hacked Osiris’ body into many pieces and scattered them all throughout Khemet.” His finger skimmed along the idol’s carved headdress. “Osiris's wife, Isis, mourned the loss of her brother and husband. But she would not let him die so easily. In the form of a bird, she scoured the deserts and the seas and the rivers and the mountains until she assembled all of his pieces.” He paused a moment, drew his hand away. “She brought him back from the dead. A resurrection. He became king of the dead, and their son, Horus the Younger, became Pharaoh of Khemet.”

Seto stared at the other man, and felt his frustration mount. Then, realization struck him. “You were resurrected, too.”

A solemn nod. “When I journeyed to Du'at, the afterlife, from the fog of the path, Isis herself greeted me.” Seto watched him slowly close his eyes, as if basking in the memory. “In all her brilliant glory. She embraced me as a mother does her beloved son. But that was not the only way she showed me her favor for all I had done. She offered me a gift.” That molten gaze regarded him again. “I could traverse between Du'at and the land of the living. But for a price.”

Seto gulped. “The blood of mortals.”

An incline of that sharp chin. “To maintain a physical body, I needed to ingest the blood of mortals. But I did not care. I wanted to return to my family, to my people, to my country. So I did. My family welcomed my return with open arms. My people were in awe of what seemed to be a display of my divine power. After all, I had the strength of a thousand men, the speed to rival any fast-diving falcon. The elements themselves bent to my will.”

“But didn't they notice? That you needed blood, that you couldn't go out during the day?”

“That is where you are mistaken. I _could_ go out during the day. I lived life as I had before, save for my new appetite for vital fluids. And it did not go unnoticed. But my people adored me. They willingly lined up to be my next meal.” He lowered his eyes. “But I could not control my bloodthirst. I fed without mercy or restraint.” His lips firmed into a thin line. “Family. Friends. My subjects. Emissaries from other nations. None were safe from my fathomless hunger.” His eyes were stricken with sorrow, shame. “The black soils of Khemet were sullied with the blood of her people, and the Nile ran red.” He pressed his palms to his face. “I was so entrenched in my bloodlust. Their screams, their cries for mercy fell on deaf ears.”

Seto remained quiet. It was so much information.

“But they didn't _die_ ,” Yami choked. “My bite is so powerful that by simply draining a mortal dry, I turn them into the undead. From my lack of restraint spawned a plague the likes of which the world had never seen.” His voice cracked. “The dead feasted on the living, without pause, without ruth. My people were slaughtered by the machinations of my wanton appetite.” His shoulders shook, trembling, fragile leaves in a coarse wind.

Seto edged forward, unsure. He laid a hesitant hand on Yami’s arm. Yami’s hand latched onto his own, and Seto jumped, but Yami only tangled their fingers together, squeezed gently to show his gratitude. Yami’s skin was clammy with cold sweat.

“Isis was angered by the blatant misuse of her gift,” Yami said. “She damned us all, me and my accursed offspring. Never again were we to revel in the light of Ra, to bask in his glorious rays. But a flash and we were to burn to ash, our souls left to roam the deserts, for she also forsook our entry to Du’at, the exalted Afterworld.” His other hand dropped away from his face. Red tears gleamed in his eyes. The wistful sorrow that wrought his face wrenched pain within Seto’s heart. “The last light so brilliant I had ever seen for over a millennium remained her white wings, though no light ever could rival her purity and glory, even if her words scorned me, and cursed me to an eternity of dwelling in the shadows.” His voice dropped so low and quiet, that if it weren’t for Seto’s vampiric hearing, he surely would have missed Yami’s next words. “Even still, she remains my goddess, my light, my guide. The white flame in the empty darkness.”

Seto’s head felt clogged, stuffed to the brim with this profound knowledge. But it felt as though the story were not finished. “What happened after that? What happened to _you_?”

A swallow undulated Yami’s defined neck. “I banished myself. I left my crown to my cousin, and ordered all architects and priests to strike my name from all records. I was not worthy of remembrance. Khemet would never recall me as their king, their god, and I knew that would be for the better.” He took a deep, hitching breath. “Many of my wretched offspring burned away with the rise of the sun. The desert simply couldn’t afford many shelters to the denizens of the night. I sought to relegate myself amongst the fallen. I laid myself out on a cliff overlooking the Nile, and waited for Ra to begin his journey across the sky.” A dark chuckle. “Oh, how I _burned_. I’m sure the very flesh was seared off my bones, but still I did not die. When nighttime came, I remained, and I regenerated. Even my scars from my mortal life returned to mar my skin.”

The fingers in Seto’s grasp trembled, quivered, fought against clenching.

“It was naive of me to think that her punishment would be so easy to escape. No, I am truly immortal, doomed to suffer for all eternity,” he murmured, “or so I believed at the time.” Yami met Seto’s gaze. “Even when the cursed was laid, my powers never waned. In fact, they grew through the centuries. Soon enough, I realized that even in this damnation, I would have purpose, that I could still atone for the atrocities I had committed.”

_Only I can atone for my sins…_

“You get the rogues. The ones who don’t know how to control their thirst. The ones that want to subjugate the humans,” Seto said. “You’re… the secret police of vampires.”

Yami laughed wetly. “That’s one way to put it.” He slowly disentangled his hand. “You are all my offspring. My responsibility. My legacy. The world is my people, and I must protect the humans at whatever cost.”

Seto frowned thoughtful. His hand clenched around empty space. His skin tingled. “How many times have vampires tried to take over?”

“Too many. Several important events in history were driven by the machinations of vampires.” Yami tilted his head. “The fall of Rome. The War of the Roses. The rise of Nazi Germany.” A frown. “Though not the entirety of World War II. The vampiric Nazis simply took advantage of the chaos to instill their own agenda.”

“Egh. That’s cliched, vampire Nazis,” Seto grunted, shaking his head.

“Because it’s founded in truth.”

“And you helped in the war, then, I guess?”

“Yes. I’m the one who burned Hitler to a crisp.”

“... That’s actually fucking awesome.”

A snort, and then silence. Some questions were still left unanswered, lurked like held breaths under the placid surface of a fathomless pond.

“... What happened earlier?” Seto asked quietly, and he could feel the tension surge back up, a tide renewed. He lightly touched a finger to Yami's wrist.

Yami's gulp was audible.

“I've dedicated all my years to service of the gods. Mortal and immortal alike. I've devoted my eternity to righting the wrongs of my past, to safeguarding this accursed gift. For all my efforts, Isis has rewarded me with growing power and influence.” His voice dipped, his lower lip trembled. “And yet she still eludes me. Still she rejects me.” A shaky breath. “Still I am eternally alone.”

He turned away, head ducked between tense shoulders.

“Perhaps I can never atone.”

The scent of blood bloomed on the incense-laden air. He was crying.

“Perhaps I'll never be forgiven.”

Seto's gut wrenched, and though he ached to reach out, his hands remained at his sides.

“Perhaps I am fated to be forever forsaken.”

* * *

The huge blond proffered the large golden pendant. Large, pale hands accepted it.

“Ah, the Pendant. That makes three,” Dartz murmured. The glitter of metal reflected eerily in his heterochromatic eyes.

The white-haired man in the corner strode forward, snatched the artifact out of Dartz’s grasp. He hissed, teeth bared, and hurled it into a wall. Drywall cracked and splintered under the force of the impact. The angular hunk of gold plummeted to the ground with a heavy _thunk_.

“You fools!” he hissed, dark eyes glinting ferally.

“What are you doing?!” Dartz barked.

The white-haired man snarled. He jabbed a finger at the immense jewelry on the floor. “ _That_ is not the Pendant!”

Rafael's face twisted. “Not the Pendant? It's exactly what you described!”

A sneer. “You're a fucking idiot if you thought that the Pharaoh would leave it simply lying around!” He stomped to the discarded gold and lifted it up in a white-knuckled grip. “ _This--_ ” he shook his fist. “-- is a _replica!_ A fake. Counterfeit!” He hurled it at the massive blond.

Rafael, with superhuman reflexes, easily caught it.

“I swear, you vampires are fucking useless!” His words hissed out.

The flicker of a forked tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm sorry about how long it took me to write this. I had to wrestle this chapter into submission. It actually got rewritten and restructured three times. I hope it turned out okay, and that you guyes enjoyed it!


	13. Faster

It was gone. Yami frowned, scratched his cheek.

They'd taken it.

But, at least they didn't get the real one. He glowered darkly at the empty box.

Dust motes floated all around him. He sighed. His nose twitched. He sneezed.

He looked at the shelves in the storeroom. They were stained by a thick layer of gray.

When was the last time he cleaned?

* * *

Seto woke to the sound of electric guitars. He sat up stiffly in his bed, brows furrowed in sleepy confusion.

"The hell?"

It was low, a sensual strumming, nearly swinging in its lethargic energy. It was a tune he recognized but couldn't name. Something old. Like, the '70s old.

Seto stumbled out of bed. It was still early; the sun was just about to set. His bare feet padded audibly on the stone floor of the hallway. Warbling voices poured through the open door of Yami's study. The low thrum of drums.

It wiggled into his brain.

He strode in.

"What the fuck are you listening to? People were still sleeping, you know!" Seto hissed, looking around the room for his sire.

His voice came from above. "What? Not a fan of Clapton?"

Seto jerked his head up.

Yami was perched atop one of those bookshelf ladders. He didn't even spare Seto a glance as he manually dusted off the tops of the books on the shelves.

Seto gritted his teeth. The bastard was wearing that stupid black wife-beater again.

The man who had an emotional breakdown not a day before was nonchalantly cleaning his study as if all were right in the world.

Yami made a noise of disgust. "This place needed a good dusting." He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Can't remember the last time it happened."

Seto still stared at the other in befuddlement. Yami bent forward to reach farther back into the shelf. He wore distressed, faded blue jeans. The material hugged his hips and his --

Seto's fingers twitched, and he jerked his head to the side. A lukewarm blush rose to his cheeks.

"Well, fucking keep it down next time."

Yami snorted. "Yes, mother."

"Cheeky bastard," Seto hissed back, striding from the room, if only to keep himself from ogling Yami's shapely body.

* * *

Seto was tidying up his own room when the music stopped. A breath, and then a slight rap of knuckles upon his door.

"What?" He yanked his door open.

Yami stood, hand still lifted. His black shirt was streaked with thick bands of dust. He even had a blotch of gray on his cheek, a dot of it on his nose. His violet eyes blinked up at Seto.

"I'd like to request your presence in the study after I am done showering," Yami said.

Seto inclined his chin, and his lip twitched. "You're filthy." At least he wasn't caked in blood.

An arch of the eyebrow. "Hence the shower."

"Hn."

Yami walked off, and Seto's eyes strayed downward again. How he managed to get dust all over the seat of his pants, Seto couldn't even begin to guess. He blinked. He threw himself back, slammed the door.

"... Cheeky bastard."

* * *

Yami was re-arranging books when Seto walked back in.

"What did you want to talk about?" He asked, leaned against the shelf a few feet away from the other man.

A slanting glance from amaranthine eyes. "Your safety."

Seto immediately stiffened.

Yami turned to fully face him, stepped closer. His cold hand cupped Seto's cheek.

Seto resisted the urge to lean down into the gentle touch.

"I'm sorry," Yami murmured, low. "I didn't intend for my actions to put you in danger. Had I known--"

"You couldn't have," Seto interrupted. "You're many things, but I'm going to assume that clairvoyant isn't one of them."

Yami chuckled, shook his head, though his vivid eyes remained affixed to the man in front of him. "No, I'm not clairvoyant. But I should have known better than to leave you alone when you can't defend yourself."

"You'd left me alone countless times before. Nothing bad had ever happened."

Yami's brows furrowed. "But--"

Seto suddenly grabbed the sides of Yami's face. His cheeks were smooth and cool. "Dammit, you fool. I don't blame you for what happened, and I'm not going to let you convince me otherwise. You have nothing to feel bad about. _Shit happens_ ," he hissed.

Pale eyelids and thick lashes shuttered over a violet abyss, and Seto realized how close he had tugged Yami's face to his own. This close, he could see the faint creases on the red skin of Yami's lips, the ripples in his lurid irises. Unlike the majority of his hair, dark and coarse, his bangs were blonde and silky, trapped beneath Seto's fingers.

He released him, took a step back.

Yami lived the past forty-five centuries blaming himself for all that had happened.

Seto wasn't going to let him take responsibility for pure chance.

Yami's eyes were downcast, and his arm fell to his side. Quietly, he said, "That may be so, but the fact remains that I still have much to teach you."

This time, Seto wasn't going to argue. He'd had plenty of opportunities to realize that he was not equipped to protect himself against vampiric attackers.

"Hn. How do you plan to do that?"

Yami met his eyes. "Well, training of course."

* * *

Under the shadows of night, between the sickly green halos of streetlamps, they walked to an abandoned warehouse.

"This place is a mess," Seto grumbled when they ducked through a door tilted on a single hinge.

Moonlight filtered in through the missing patches of corrugated roofing. The odor of dust and mildew hung heavily on the stale air. Somewhere, water dripped. All around, old containers and pallets sat in moldy, discolored towers. Soggy cardboard littered the floor, and abandoned wires webbed the floor like veins. Somewhere, water from the rain earlier that day dripped into a puddle. The wind hissed through the dilapidated wall slats and broken garage doors.

Seto heard some animal scitter across the floor in a corner.

Yami said nothing, only strode to the center of the large, cavernous room.

"As a vampire, what do you think is your greatest asset?" Yami asked, and pivoted on his heel. His deep, authoritative voice cracked the still atmosphere like lightning does a tree.

Seto answered without second thought. "Strength."

Yami crossed his arms. His violet eyes nearly glowed in the moon-dappled dark. "Wrong."

Seto bristled.

"It is your speed." Seto barely blinked and the man was gone. His voice echoed from above. "You can have all the physical strength in the world…" A silhouette crouched on a rusty metal beam close to the ceiling. "You can move mountains with your bare hands…" A blink. Gone. A foreboding presence behind Seto. He whirled. "But if you can't dodge a well-placed attack…" Yami lunged, and Seto stumbled back. He hit the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Yami pinned him down by his throat.

"... You are dead," he said, monotone, face deadpan. He stood, held out a hand for Seto.

Seto knocked it aside and stood on his own. He grimaced and brushed the dirt off his back.

Yami stared at him.

"As pissed as I am at you for knocking me down, I can admit that what you're saying makes sense," Seto growled.

If he could've evaded Rafael's attacks, he could've saved himself a lot of blood and pain.

"I have to question, though…" Seto started.

Yami's head tilted, inquisitive and attentive.

"So, from what I understand, when we feed from another vampire, we absorb some of their power."

A slight nod. "Yes."

"And _you_ are the first vampire, arguably the most powerful one, too. _I_ have been feeding from you since day one. Why am I not freakishly powerful?" Seto asked, visibly miffed.

"Do you expect infants to be able to do all the things their parents can, no matter how well they are being nurtured?"

Seto frowned. "No."

"It is the same principle. You are but an infant; you are not fully developed, and neither are your abilities." Yami crossed his arms again. "You can't possibly expect an infant to run as fast as a trained adult sprinter. Or to be able to run at all, for that matter."

Seto's jaw ticked. He didn't quite like being compared to an infant, but the analogy got Yami's point across.

"It had taken me centuries to develop my powers, and just as long to master to them." Yami's head ticked to the side again. "Though your growth rate might be accelerated due to my influence."

"Hn," Seto grunted. He didn't want to wait _centuries_ to be able to defend himself properly.

Yami held up a finger. "In addition, I did not have someone with expertise to help me hone my skills. I wrote the metaphorical book on the powers of the night."

Seto resisted the urge to purse his lips.

"There are many things you could have possibly inherited from me, from shadow manipulation to shapeshifting, but, first, we're simply going to get you more attuned to your undead body."

"The plan?" Seto asked, crossing his arms and staring the other man down.

A smirk. Fangs flashed silver in the dappled moonlight. "Catch me if you can."

A blink. He was gone.

Seto whirled, whipping his head around.

Up, up, perched where two horizontal beams crossed. Red eyes glowed down upon Seto.

"What are you waiting for?" Yami's voice purred. The shadows around them danced with the syllables.

Eyes streaked long banners of red. Seto shifted on his feet to follow the movement. Yami was now crouched precariously on a tilted tower of rusted boxes.

Gone again.

Seto bared his teeth.

"Afraid to fail?" Yami boomed. Seto looked up again. The other man was crawling across the ceiling high above.

"How the hell do you expect me to catch you when I can't even _see_ you move?" Seto snarled.

The ensuing chuckle rippled through the darkness. "Is _the_ Seto Kaiba asking me to slow down for him?"

Seto gritted his teeth, fangs elongating in his agitation. "No!"

What the fuck was he supposed to do? _Jump_ after Yami?

This was ridiculous.

"Remember, Seto; you have more senses than just your sight at your disposal." Yami was casually walking along the rafters on the other fucking side of the damn warehouse.

Seto's breath huffed through his nose.

He closed his eyes.

A rhythmic clicking to his right. Nails on metal. A dark chuckle to his left. Yami was deliberately playing with him.

"More than your ears," Yami intoned.

And it finally clicked.

Seto had grown so used to it -- _developed_ with it always so near -- he didn't think actively about it anymore.

Yami's vampiric aura.

When he finally gave attention to it, he realized its sheer breadth and density. Now, he had several comparisons, and he knew distinctly that Yami's presence was a crushing force in relation to even that of Rafael and his companions.

He could sense him, zipping around the abandoned warehouse like a vampiric pinball.

The comparison made him chuckle.

Okay, he knew how to efficiently locate Yami. How did he actually chase after him?

Yami's sonorous voice rasped pleasantly against Seto's nerves. "Are you not up for the challenge, Kaiba?"

"That's not it," Seto snapped.

"Oh?" He darted so close, Seto could feel their shirts brush together. "Don't tell me you don't know how to _jump_ , little fledgling?"

Seto snarled, whirled after him. Yami crouched atop another stack of metal containers. Seto's haunches tensed, and, in his rage, simply allowed himself to follow his instincts.

He launched himself after Yami. Unable to gauge his own abilities, he undershot the leap, had to dig his nails in and scramble the rest of the way up.

"Not even close," Yami said, nearly sing-song, hanging upside down from the crossbeam directly over Seto's head.

An enraged growl. The force rippled through him.

Yami was already gone.

Seto slammed into the metal beam, and it knocked the air out of his lungs. He managed to band his arms around it and haul himself up. He crouched on the beam. Rust dug into his hands. He stared down at the floor, more than a dozen feet below.

A snort. "Are you just going to admire the scenery, or are you actually going to _try_?"

Seto all but snapped his jaws at the other man.

Across beams, leaping from box tower to box tower, bounding off the ceiling and the walls. Each time, Yami was a bound ahead of Seto, a blurred after-image of glowing red eyes. But, he became swifter, more agile. He hit his marks, climbed and jumped and darted with ease as they danced their way through the rafters. The gap between them, feet wide, began to close, until Seto's fingers nearly brushed Yami's clothing each time.

What frustrated Seto the most was that this was probably a fraction of the speed Yami could move.

He snarled, skin clammy from the cold, wet air. He sprinted along a beam parallel to Yami, and, when they were neck-and-neck, he lunged.

If it weren't for the loose material of Yami's pants, Seto might have missed him yet again.

But he didn't. He wrapped his fingers in the material as soon as it brushed against him and threw his weight over the narrow edge of the beam.

Then, they were falling.

Cold surged up around them, and all Seto could see was black. The sinking sensation in his stomach faded away, and then suddenly he was laying on solid ground, his fingers still clenched in Yami's pant leg, just by his calf.

The shadows slithered away.

Yami had caught them.

"Gotcha," Seto panted out, slumping against the dirty ground.

Yami laughed from deep in his belly. The sound echoed boisterously in the warehouse. " _Barely_!" Seto snorted, released his hold on Yami's clothing, and rolled onto his back. He heard Yami shuffle around, sit up, and then he was leaning into Seto's vision. The red had cooled to an amused violet. "If I hadn't been wearing pants, you wouldn't have caught me."

Seto blinked, scrubbed a dirty hand over his face. He no longer cared about the orange-brown rust staining his palms. "I don't know about that," he muttered honestly.

If Yami hadn't been wearing any pants, Seto would've had _incentive_ to catch him.

He blushed at his own thoughts.

Yami's grin widened. "Of course. Cocky fledgling." He patted Seto's filthy cheek. The action felt somehow sarcastic. "You did very well."

Seto's lip curled. "You were holding back."

Yami lifted a shoulder. He still hovered above Seto. "You would never have had a chance otherwise."

Seto rolled to the side. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, old fart."

Yami crawled after him. "You know it's true."

Seto rolled again, not even caring that a puddle of dirty water was soaking into his shirt. "Hn. Sure. If you say so."

"Well, I do." Yami continued crawling after Seto at a steady pace as the other man just kept rolling away. "I do say so."

"Nice," Seto replied.

"Are you trying to make _me_ catch _you_ now, Seto?" Yami said with a laugh.

Seto rolled again. "Maybe. I've always had a taste for revenge."

"Well, you are challenging a lion to a game of cat and mouse," Yami intoned with mock seriousness.

"That was horrible."

"It was a little tacky, was it not?"

"Hn, more than a little."

Laughter echoed through the abandoned warehouse.

* * *

They came in hordes on a moonless night. Alone, he stood no chance.

Dark blood slashed on sandstone. The ancient, intricate paintings were doused and desecrated by red.

The Scale and the Key.

They were found, and they were taken.

* * *

"Harder!" Yami barked.

Seto's teeth gritted with exertion.

"That's not fast enough, Kaiba!"

His teeth bared. His muscles, still so cold, screamed their protest.

"If I were your enemy, you would be dead already!" Yami's voice boomed, and Seto could've sworn that he heard the metal roofing rattle.

When he was human, Seto followed a strict physical training regimen. At least one hour, seven days a week. It'd help him shed more energy and sleep better at night.

But no workout, even his most intense ones, could ever compare to the hell Yami put him through.

Darting about the warehouse (hell, _warehouses_ , when Yami would take to the roof and jump from building to building like a damn flea), tipping over heavier and heavier crates (at one point, even a giant shipping container), and reflex training (Yami whipping objects at him, even hand-to-hand combat).

Never as a vampire had he felt so physically fatigued.

He leaned against a metal beam and panted. His muscles felt like liquid.

Yami whipped a rock at him, and he weakly batted it away.

"No more," he muttered. "I can't do anymore tonight."

Yami shifted, and Seto flinched. But another rock did not come.

Yami moved closer, brushed the hair out of Seto's eyes. "Okay. You did well. You more than deserve to rest for tonight."

"Hn," Seto grunted, still breathless. He leaned into the touch. A week of this training. Every night, no matter what else was planned. Feeding? Run across rooftops afterwards. Praying? Fling some fucking rocks at Seto after.

And the cleaning. Yami dusted a majority of the rooms already. Busy, busy week.

Yami made a soft sound, caressed Seto's cheek briefly.

Seto blinked down at him.

"Do you need to feed?" Yami asked. "You spent a lot of energy tonight."

Seto nearly shuddered at the thought.

He hungered.

But not for blood.

"No," he said. "I'm fine."

But he thought about Yami, breathless and arching in his arms.

The thought had stewed for a while.

"I want to know what it feels like," he rumbled, blinking slowly, tiredly.

Yami stared at him. His dark brows furrowed. "I'm not following."

Seto reached forward, sluggish fingers tracing along Yami's neck. "To be fed from."

Those red lips parted, surprised. "Do you remember when Pegasus bit you?"

Seto snorted. "Not really." It was blurry, foggy and vague. He knew distantly the feeling of the drain.

But it certainly didn't feel like how Yami made it seem.

"Why?" Yami asked, quiet. "Why do you want to know?"

Seto lifted a shoulder. "I don't like the fact that when I feed, either from humans or from you, I don't know necessarily what they are feeling." A little growl. "And I don't like being ill-informed."

Yami looked away, still seemingly stunned. “That's understandable, I suppose.” He either didn't notice or didn't mind Seto's hand lingering on his neck. “Though I will be honest in admitting that I did not expect such a consideration from you.”

Seto hummed, languid, breath even and slow now.

Yami suddenly stiffened, head whipping to one side.

Seto snatched his hand away.

“We have a visitor,” Yami murmured. His posture shifted, like a panther on guard.

Seto followed his gaze. He was staring toward the church. He looked back to Yami, who was creeping forward, shadows fluttering around his edges. “Do you know who it is?” Seto asked.

A hum, crimson eyes flicking toward him. “Yes…

“... It's Maximillion Pegasus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOO what is Seto getting himself intoooo~~?
> 
> Hugs and kisses! I'll see you next chapter!


	14. Square Hammer

He stood in the halo of a streetlamp. His metallic hair gleamed sickly green in the light, which warped the deep burgundy color of his suit into something unpleasant. An elegant white cane was gripped in even whiter gloves.

Seto's hackles raised immediately.

Shadows whipped around Yami in a swirling, intimidating display. He stalked forward, slinking like a panther on the prowl. Seto trailed behind in his tumultuous wake.

"Pegasus…" Yami rumbled, and the very night itself stirred.

"Oh, Yami, what a pleasant night for a walk, hmm?" Maximillion Pegasus cooed.

A low growl. Shadows throbbed. "Don't play coy with me, Pegasus."

A visible gulp. "There is something of much import that I must discuss with you."

Crimson eyes narrowed to glowing slits.

"It's Paradius."

* * *

Seto lingered awkwardly in the study, and somewhat hovered over Yami's shoulder, who was sitting stiffly in his chair behind the desk. Pegasus was perched on the edge of an armchair across from them.

He exuded an air of confidence and ease, but his cognac eye darted about the room.

Seto found himself smirking a little.

Yami crossed one slender leg over the other.

"You always come crawling back to me, Max," he rumbled, jaw set on his knuckles. "When all others reject you, I remain." Violet eyes glowed crimson around the pupils. "No matter how you blunder, you know I will be here to accept you once again." Solemn, monotonous. "And, as surely as the tides turn, it has happened again."

Pegasus stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Scarlet flared brighter as eyelids narrowed. "I can tell, you know. You no longer have the Eye. They stole it from you."

Pegasus' head lowered.

"How long did you have it?" Yami made a show of counting on his fingers. "Four centuries?" A chuckle. "The only people to have one longer remains myself and one other." A beat of silence. "You don't have to tell me anything. I already know. Dartz is collecting the Items. A tryad of his spawns accosted Seto not a week ago, and escaped with a counterfeit Pendant, one of many I have planted throughout my dwelling."

Pegasus looked back up, silver brow arched. "Escaped? Yami, I must say, you're losing your touch."

Yami's upper lip curled, exposed a fang. The shadows seized and trembled. Seto shuddered. "It would be wise not to insult me in my own home, Pegasus. Especially when I have been spending so much time cleaning up your  _messes._ "

"Um, noted," Pegasus croaked. His long, sickly pale fingers thrummed on his cane, set across his knees. "You say you know  _what_ they are doing, but do you know  _why_  they are doing what they are doing?"

Yami scoffed. "Those who assemble the Items do it for two reasons, and two reasons only; power, and to release Apep's influence upon the world once again."

Pegasus huffed. "Yami, Lord of Shadows, the one with all the answers." His only visible eye rolled. "Those aren't the only reasons, but yes."

A dark eyebrow arched. "Oh? And what are others?" He leaned forward, intense, and Seto thought of a big cat ready to pounce. "What are yours?"

Pegasus looked startled.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Maximillion. You only get yourself involved if you have something to gain from it," Yami hissed. "You are the pinnacle of opportunism, much like some parasite or scavenger." He steepled his fingers, peered at Pegasus over their tips. "Why do  _you_ want the Items?"

Pegasus stiffened even more in his seat. "I think that's hardly any of your business."

The shadows around Yami's desk fluttered, winglike. "I have sacrificed  _everything_  for these unholy artifacts. It was with my mortal blood that Apep was sealed. Any intent with the Millennium Items is 'my business.'" He trailed off. A wicked grin split his lips. "I would also like to remind you of the last time you were less than forthcoming with me, Strigoi."

Pegasus hissed, jagged teeth flashing, a flicker of a serpentine tongue.

Yami slammed a fist upon the desk, his body surging up. "Still you dare to defy me!" Black wings flared open, silk in a storm, and the lights flickered. " _Tell me!_ " The roar rattled the books in their shelves.

Pegasus' frantic scrambling knocked his chair to the floor with a clatter.

The shadows furled, feathers closing, and Yami stood, resolute, behind his desk.

Pegasus' silver hair was splayed about, and Seto caught a glimpse of a swollen, empty eye socket. Shivering, he dragged himself to his feet.

Yami sank into his chair, reclined with all the elegant poise befitting him. He waited patiently for Pegasus to right his chair and sit down once again.

Pegasus fixed his hair best he could, pale hands trembling. "When I was turned, I had been married," he said quietly. "My wife, Cecelia, was a sickly woman. I… tried to turn her, to keep our vows as spouses eternal." He placed his cane back over his knees. "In fact, she was the reason I accepted this curse at all."

Yami bobbed his head, a knowing look on his face. Seto wondered how many times the ancient vampire had heard such a tale.

"It did not work. She did not have the strength to complete the transformation," Pegasus said. "My wife passed to the other world." He ran his hand along the white cane. "I heard tales of you… your resurrection, your return from the land of the dead." A single cognac eye finally lifted. "And of how the Millennium Items facilitated this feat."

Yami made a sound low in his throat. "So you planned on using them to revive her?"

A solemn nod.

Yami shook his head. "It would never have worked."

Pegasus arched a brow.

Yami leaned forward, crimson swirling with purple. "The Millennium Items had nothing to do with my resurrection." He sat back again, languid. "The tales you've heard are just that. Tales. Rumors warped by thousands of years of retelling and retelling, embellishments upon embellishments."

Seto chuckled. As if the true story needed anymore  _embellishments._ It was already colorful enough.

Amused, yet quizzical, Yami glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Seto shook his head in reply and grinned wryly.

"As I was saying, there are only two reasons, and yours is no exception," Yami concluded. "You wanted  _power_. The power to bring the dead from their graves." Yami leaned his jaw on his knuckles again. "I shall tell you now, Pegasus, that some things should rest forever. They are better off that way."

"Your unending wisdom humbles me," Pegasus replied with mocking solemnity.

A dark brow cocked. "As it should. Believe it or not, I know what I am talking about."

Pegasus waved a gloved hand dismissively.

Yami shifted. "I know what Paradius wants. And that is both of the two options. They want power to overthrow me, and, in doing so, release Apep from his ancient prison." He hummed. The note seemed to resonate through the walls. "They want domination, of both this world and the next."

Pegasus huffed melodramatically. "Then what am I here for?"

Yami chuckled. "I suppose it is nice to have confirmation." Violet eyes were intent. "And I know it is not the only reason you are here."

Pegasus' laugh was a coo, pretentious and grating. "Yes, I also wanted to discuss our… shared interest." A single cognac eye affixed to Seto.

Yami bristled, and Seto felt himself doing the same. "We share nothing."

"I, too, played a part in what Kaiba has become. By the laws of our people,  _your_ people, I have a say in how he is raised."

Yami lunged forward, hands slamming on the desktop. "You have a say in  _nothing_!" he spat. "I have spent the past  _five centuries_ cleaning up your innumerable messes! Countless spawns you have cast aside to deal with their undeath however they see fit!" Black, like graphite smudges, clung to his edges. "You have never cared about them, and you have lost the  _privilege_ of propagating and grooming your own blood!" He threw an arm out in an enraged gesture. "My blood is dominant in his veins! Your influence is but a candle next to mine!"

Seto blinked at his sire.

His… sires…?

He had two.

And one was Maximillion Pegasus.

"You do not get to decide when my rights as his sire are rescinded. In fact, as far as I am concerned, you  _stole_ him from me," Pegasus hissed. His eye flashed to a sulfurous yellow.

"Oh please," Yami snarled. "As if you had the intention of turning him. You would have left him for dead if you couldn't have turned him into your personal marionette." A short breath. "And I refuse to bicker over him as if we were an inanimate object."

\- Sometime later, when Seto reflected on the conversation, he thought about how, technically, he was an  _inanimate_ object -

For the first time since entering the room, Seto decided to speak. "You can go fuck yourself, Pegasus."

An aghast look of offense.

"You wouldn't give  _two shits_  about me if Yami hadn't given me so much of his blood," Seto said, blunt, blasé. "You just want to use me for your own gains."

Pegasus scoffed. "As if Yami isn't doing the same!" He turned back to the man in question. "Were you so lonely that you had to  _turn_ someone to have any meaningful relationship, Yami-boy? You've chased away or killed everyone else, right?"

The lights went out.

Red eyes glared in the growing dark as the shadows surged beneath bone-chilling fury.

" _Leave!"_  The church shook on its foundation at the roar. "I will stand your insolence no longer!"

Seto shivered. The shadows sucked any warmth from the air.

They could hear Pegasus scramble away like a cockroach for shelter.

The cold in the air receded with the fading black, but Seto still felt like ice. After a moment, the lights flickered back on, hesitantly, timidly, as if fearing another sable outburst. Yami stood, palms on the desk, shoulders shaking with barely-contained rage.

Seto reached forward, set a hand on Yami's back. Pulsating crimson eyes stared at him over a trembling shoulder. Seto gulped, but still petted along Yami's spine in a soothing manner. With each pass of his hand, red cooled to violet, until, eventually, Yami's stiff posture slumped. Yami looked away, frowning.

"I apologize for my outburst."

Seto dug his thumb under Yami's scapula, worked out a knot. "Don't. He was deliberately being an ass."

Before he knew it, Seto was giving Yami a full-fledged back massage.

Yami sighed, tired yet delighted. "Right there."

Seto blushed, but it never once occurred to him to stop.

* * *

The Egyptian Nightjar flew right through the window. Pale blue, ice-like eyes widened.

Shadi would not attempt contact unless something happened. Something bad.

He inhaled roughly when he realized that the bird  _wasn't_ Shadi.

It was just a normal bird.

He immediately set to writing a letter.

* * *

"So, what did I actually end up inheriting from Pegasus?" Seto asked, hours later.

The pair was on a sofa in the lounge. Somehow, Yami's feet had weaseled their way onto Seto's lap. Seto, upon noticing, glared at them and wondered just when they had ended up where they were.

Yami, reading a book, had ignored the venomous look and turned a page. Now, he peered over the top edge. His eyes rolled up, thoughtful, before they peered back to Seto.

"Hm, well, I've noticed you have an elongated tongue, somewhat resembling a Strigoi stinger."

Seto frowned, rolled his tongue around the confines of his mouth. It didn't feel any longer. Now, curiosity piqued, he stuck the appendage out.

He could touch his nose.

"Hn." Disturbing.

Yami's fingers drummed on the covers of his book. "And I would also say that your blood is a little thicker than mine, a little darker." He tilted his head to the side. "I think that's about it."

"Good," Seto grunted.

A comfortable silence fell, the only sound the turning of pages.

Seto closed his book. "How many different kinds of vampire are there?"

Yami blinked at him.

This was the first time Seto had shown interest in such a subject.

"Countless," Yami replied. "As humans from different areas turned, and the subsequent vampires adapted to their surroundings, it created an ever-increasing variety. In addition, as the generations grew further away from me, they lost power, the bloodlines gradually weakening."

"Hn." Seto exhaled. "What was Weevil?"

"Jiangshe, an order of vampire originating from China. They're fairly weak, and they have a blaring flaw; a few minutes after they feed, a fierce paralysis besets their entire body."

"How the hell did that come about? From an evolutionary perspective, I just can't understand how a bloodline can propagate when each individual could so easily be killed."

Yami nodded, "I can understand that concern. But the Jiangshe developed amazing speed and agility to scramble to safety as soon as they feed. They also became a little more secretive."

"'Amazing' speed and agility?" Seto echoed sarcastically.

Yami's lip quirked up. "In comparison to other orders of vampire about the same power level." It evolved into a toothy smirk. "Not so much in comparison to me."

Seto rolled his eyes. "I figured as much. You slaughtered them like they were merely animals."

"Well, they were certainly acting like animals," Yami chortled.

"You drained Weevil," Seto noted.

"Indeed I did. In combat, draining your enemy is a display of dominance, power. It is the ultimate shame to be drained without your permission," Yami replied.

Seto recalled the time, seemingly so long ago now, when he had shoved Yami against a wall, forcefully drank of Yami's blood.

Seto gritted his teeth, looked away. " _I've_  drained you without your permission."

"Oh, Seto." Yami's feet slipped from his lap, and the cushions shifted as Yami crawled closer. His cool hand cupped Seto's cheek, and he turned Seto back to him. "Don't be silly," he murmured. "If I didn't want it, you most certainly would have known."

A blush tinted Seto's cheeks. Those violet eyes were molten with warmth. He couldn't help how his eyes dropped to those red lips.

Yami's eyes widened marginally, and he began to draw away.

Seto latches onto his wrist.

"I was serious earlier," Seto replied, gritty. "About wanting you to feed from me."

"Seto…"

"Do you not want to?" Seto asked gruffly.

Yami shook his head. "That is not the issue."

Seto released Yami's wrist. "Then what is the issue? Explain it to me."

Yami's eyes searched his face, but no words passed his lips.

Seto stood abruptly. He moved to walk away.

Yami was the one that reached out.

His small, slender fingers wrapped around Seto's tense forearm. A firm yank, and Seto was falling back into the cushions. Yami was suddenly straddling him. Slender, firm.

"You want me to bite you?" Yami asked, face intense and eyes red but voice monotonous. "How do you want me to do it?" His hand slithered into Seto's hair. Seto gasped, his head wrenched back, and Yami's cold breath fanned on his exposed throat. "Like I would my enemies?" Fangs, freakishly long, scraped over Seto's flesh. "Like I would my prey?" Now, lips, ghosts of touches as they moved. "Like I would my lovers?"

Seto shuddered, panting. "Any."

 _All of it. Give it all to me_.

Yami's nose traced up a tendon. "Any?"

"Yes," Seto breathed out.

Firm nuzzles, and Seto jolted at the sensation of a tongue swiping over his flesh. Yami chuckled. "Do I not want to? Hm, you've not the faintest clue." Cold breath fogged on his saliva-dampened skin. "Not the faintest."

Seto clutched at Yami's slender waist. "D-Do it already." His skin tingled where Yami had licked him.

A topical anesthetic. It was going to happen.

Still, it stung slightly when Yami's fangs pierced his flesh. They slid deep, punctured veins and muscles. He could smell his own blood staining the air.

And then Yami began drawing from him.

The pull, tingling, tugged all the way from his fingertips and toes. It felt…  _good._  His breath caught, stuttering, and his spine bowed.

 _Oh god_.

Yami pulled back, tongue swiping again, before he bit down once more.

Seto bit back a moan. It felt like his every nerve was being relentlessly caressed by the most sinful hands. Yami's touched moved to his back, drew Seto closer to him. Seto's own fingers curled hard into Yami's waist. Firm muscle resisted his kneading. Seto tipped his head back against the couch cushions.

Sweat.  _Hot_ sweat.

Yami was a brand on his lap. White-hot lightning, smoldering breaths. Yes, beneath the shirt under Seto's fingers, Yami was  _burning_ as he consumed Seto.

One last, hard draw that made Seto twitch, and Yami threw himself to the side.

Hot panting filled the lounge.

Seto looked to Yami.

Those pale cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, fangs shortening and a little trickle of blood twining from the corner of his mouth. A pink tongue flashed out to lap it up.

"You… you taste like me," Yami breathed.

Seto snapped his head away, gritted his teeth hard.

He wondered furiously if Yami ever thought before he spoke.

"Hn, I fucking wonder why," Seto responded sarcastically.

Yami suddenly crawled closer once more. He emanated warmth like a torch. Yami's tongue, heated, laved gently over the bite wounds.

Seto hummed, tilted his head away, bared his throat.

"It's… uncanny," Yami murmured against Seto's neck. "I am honestly a little unnerved."

Seto scoffed. "C'mon. It can't be  _that_ close."

Yami leaned back, frowned right up at Seto. "It is  _that_ close."

Seto laughed, both at Yami's befuddlement and his deadpan response. "How can you tell? How often do you taste your own blood?"

Yami's lips twisted to one side. "You have a point."

"Of course I do."

Yami dragged a nail over his own wrist, watched with a blank face as his blood sprang up eagerly. The dark liquid unfurled like a wing on Yami's pale flesh.

Quickly, he lapped it up to keep it from dripping onto the sofa. His brows furrowed, eyes squeezed closed. He was concentrating on the flavor.

Seto found the situation, oddly, both amusing and sensual.

"Very close," Yami muttered. "A slight difference, but it's incredibly close."

A bead of blood threatened to drop off of Yami's forearm.

It gleamed like a dark ruby.

Seto took Yami's hand in his, brought his arm to his mouth. Blue eyes locked with purple, and Seto traced his tongue up the dark rivulet on Yami's lean forearm.

"Hm, I don't know. Not quite enough to warrant awe," Seto murmured, mouthed more of the red mess off that pale skin.

Yami sounded breathless. "And what do you know of your own taste?"

Seto chuckled, teethed teasingly. "Enough."

Yami's head was leaning on Seto's shoulder. "If you want, Seto, you can feed from me." His free hand brushed Seto's waist. "You were already exhausted, and I took quite a bit from you."

Yami's wound was already closing, and his wrist was clean of blood but shining with saliva. Seto released his arm, but turned, gripped Yami's chin. Their breaths, a fading warmth, mixed.

"It's not your blood I want," Seto murmured.

Purple, gleaming eyes blinked up at him.

Seto's thumb brushed that red lower lip, stained darker by blood.

"Seto…"

Their noses skimmed one another.

"Do you not want to?" Seto asked. His breath trembled from desire too long restrained.

Yami, on all fours on the sofa, one hand on Seto's knee, seemed to be tensed and melting all at the same time. "That's not the issue."

"Then what's the issue? Explain it to me."

Their lips were a hair's breadth away from touching. "I want to. I want  _you_." Yami's deep voice was a broken whimper. "But…"

"But what?" Seto whispered. "I want you. You want me. We've… we've been dancing around this for a while."

"We have," Yami conceded, hand tightening on Seto's knee. "But you're just a fledgling. I don't want you to mistake your dependence for romantic intentions. I…" A deep breath. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

Seto scoffed. "Jesus Christ, Yami.  _Taking advantage_ of me? Not likely. Do you know how many times I've wanted to grope the fuck out of you?" He leaned their foreheads together. "At least have enough confidence in me to believe that I know what I'm feeling."

Yami laughed, rubbed his nose against Seto's. "Is that all you want? To grope me?" he asked, somewhat teasing and somewhat genuine.

 _Is it just sexual for you?_ Seto could hear the unspoken question.

"No, that's not all I want. I also want to  _canoodle_  the fuck out of you," Seto conceded. And he cupped Yami's warm cheeks in his hands. "Listen to me, wanting to canoodle with the almighty vampire lord."

"I like canoodling," Yami murmured, and he shifted a little closer as if to demonstrate that.

"I know," Seto replied.

"Seto…" Yami whispered again, this time sweet and hitching.

Their lips touched.

* * *

He dragged her in by her hair. Tears stained her face, her lips dry from screaming.

"So this is what the Items need to restore their power?" a man standing off the side whispered, intrigued and disturbed.

"Yes."

She was now bound and gagged, battered and bruised. The white-haired man set her roughly to her knees, wrenched her head back. Her body bowed painfully from the force. A blade sliced across her throat, and the blood welled and spurted and stained everything red.

"Human sacrifice."

If she didn't bleed out, she died from drowning in her own blood.

"We'll need them as powerful as they can get to complete the ritual when the time comes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG it finally happened! And then I cut it off because I'm a sadist {:K (That's supposed to be a demon face but I don't care to look up how to do it properly)
> 
> I love all you guys, from the silent readers to my more vocal ones out there. I doubt I would have gotten this far without you guys.


	15. Cirice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh <~~ me wailing guiltily in the corner for how long this has taken me to updateeee. I kinda wrote myself into a corner the last chapter and I had to claw my way out. Messy, messy affair. Anyway, I hope you, my beloved readers, can find it within yourself to forgive me.

One taste was all it took. 

They parted, and the soft sound it made had Seto’s stomach twisting in his gut in the most pleasurably painful way. His breath shivered, warm, over Yami’s parted lips. The pads of his fingers were brands against Yami’s elegant jaw, and they gripped tighter to pull him in for another embrace.

“Seto,” Yami breathed again, their noses brushing together as he tilted his head to the other side. He ghosted his lips on Seto’s, fluttering gently, surprisingly tentative. Seto tugged again, his hand this time on Yami’s waist. He drew them together, sudden and tight, and Yami braced a palm on Seto’s chest. Yami was a warm aura nestled against Seto’s side.

“For someone who’s had presumably thousands of years of experience, you sure are coy,” Seto rasped against his sire’s lips.

Yami shuddered, fingers kneading where they were splayed on Seto’s sternum. “It’s…” He sighed, tipping his head back when Seto’s warming mouth peregrinated the proffered neck with utter relish. “It’s been a long time,” he moaned.

A flash of teeth just under his ear. “How long?” Rumbling and prurient. 

Yami melted, eyes closing, fingers sneaking between shirt buttons to rub at bare flesh. “A…” He sighed, lips parting, tongue darting out momentarily to wet them. “ _ Over  _ a century.”

“Since what?” Seto husked. No matter how light their touches were at this point, he’d never experienced something so  _ titillating _ .

“Since the hands of another have touched me…” Yami whimpered when Seto’s tongue stroked over the sensitive skin just under his jaw. “ _ Seto _ .”

Seto bared his teeth against Yami's jaw in an aroused snarl. "One hell of a dry spell."

Yami's palm braced on Seto's chest. His hand was buried to the wrist in the other man's shirt. The hot contact made something hungry and sharp coil in Seto’s belly. "You've no idea…" he growled, deep and rippling. 

The sofa creaked, Yami gasped, and Seto snarled as he pinned Yami to the cushions and loomed over his much-smaller frame. "Well, let's rectify that, shall we?"

Yami's next moan had the shadows swirling in their nooks and crannies, the light bulbs flickering in their fixtures. 

" _ Yes _ ."

* * *

Pale wings glided through the dark. Glassy black eyes stared at the city scape below. Silver moonlight glanced off the mottled brown back of the nocturnal raptor. The desolate cross-topped spires loomed in the distance. Between tightly clenched zygodactyl talons, parchment fluttered in the wind.

* * *

Yami's wrists felt so small in Seto's large hands, but the bone and muscle in his grasp were firm and unforgiving. 

Molten violet stared up at him. Those tantalizing lips were stained with blood and swollen with kisses. Slender thighs cradled Seto's hips in a welcoming embrace, an embrace he eagerly hunkered lower into. 

Yami tilted his pointed chin up, lifted his lips in invitation, an invitation Seto all too eagerly accepted. Their mouths slotted together, ever hotter, hotter, burning in the mutual passion. That lithe body arched up, strained against him, muscles stark and warm. Those slender, perfect hips pressed into his own, and what Seto felt there made blistering desire burst in his chest like a gunshot.

"Yami," he hissed. "You  _ want  _ me." He punctuated the words with a sensual thrust.

Yami muttered something between hot breaths, something indecipherable, and Seto realized with no small amount of heat that it was something in his native tongue. 

Seto shifted his hands away from Yami's wrists to brace his weight by his shoulders. Immediately, Yami surged up, a hot wave, and his slender hands gripped and dragged at Seto's clothed back. He met Seto's next thrust with unbridled enthusiasm, a long growling moan pouring from his trembling lips.

That beautiful face was wrought with ecstasy and animalistic arousal.

Seto panted hotly, his knees quivering as if made of gelatin. 

This was literally a dream come true. But better, so much better. That face, those sounds...

"Seto," Yami groaned, long and throaty, and the lights flickered again, strobing, faster as their heat rose with feverish delirium.

Those flashing lights caused brilliant after-images to linger behind Seto's eyelids. 

"Yami," he panted, mouthing at the others lips, and he gasped, arching with surprise when hot,  _ hot  _ hands were suddenly on the bare skin of his back. 

They yanked him down and Yami snarled against his lips, so Seto could taste the syllables on his tongue,

_ "Harder." _

* * *

It maneuvered with ethereal grace through the empty streets. A winged silhouette in the still city night. A doleful screech passed its beak, but none heard. Still, it continued its flight.

* * *

Yami's head was tipped back, jaw slack, lips parted as he panted and moaned and growled. Seto was pressed against him, back hunched so he could properly mouth at that pale, defined neck. Their lower halves surged together, over and over, spewing white-hot sparks of pleasure. But it wasn't enough, not enough. Never enough.

Desperately, Seto clawed at Yami's pumping hips. He cupped them in tense fingers. They fit perfectly in his hands. 

"Seto," Yami hissed when his fledgling began yanking him into his thrusts. The heat between them was surging like a growing inferno.

"Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ," Seto mewled, hips pumping harder.

Yami cried something, something in that ancient tongue, perhaps curses, perhaps praises, all mixed with lilting versions of Seto's name. 

And then Seto  _ smelled it _ . Hot, wet.

Yami had orgasmed.

Seto's spine curled ever more, lips snarling but moans silent, and his hips punched into Yami's faster. "Yami," he mouthed, breath huffing, hot, hot enough it felt as though his brain was melting in his skull.

Yami was still crying out, overstimulated, clawing down Seto's rippling back. The smell of blood blossomed, crimson on the air.

It mixed with the scent of saliva. The scent of sweat. The scent of fever.

The scent of sex.

And Seto was falling apart, dying all over again, writhing against Yami's burning body. He chanted that name over and over, until it was etched into the walls surrounding them, until his throat was raw from the sheer gutteral moans.

His hips slowed, rolling against Yami's, dragging a last few whimpers from his swollen lips.

Seto blinked down at him. 

Pale, high cheekbones flushed, lips red and shining, white sclera gleaming darkly with unshed tears of pleasure. Chest heaving. Throat undulating with gasping breaths and speckled with fading bruises.

Utterly debauched.

"Seto," he breathed, hands slipping along Seto's sweat-slicked waist, then pushing up his expanding and contracting torso. Seto's shirts pooled around Yami's wrists in soft, wrinkled folds. Up, higher, slithering from beneath the collar to cup Seto's hot cheeks. 

Who was tugging and who was leaning down didn't matter anymore, just that their lips were meeting, warm and sweet breaths mixing. 

Yami hummed, and Seto's slim, shaking fingers were reaching between them to undo the buttons trapping Yami's arms. They separated, in only momentarily, to remove Seto's shirt in a concerted effort. 

The material went fluttering to the void, to be picked up when the pair on the sofa weren't addled with this seeping, smoldering lust.

Then Yami was wrapping around him, heaving and spinning, and then he was sitting atop Seto's hips, his palms splaying out on that panting, bare chest. 

Seto blinked up at him. Wild hair framing his flushed face, violet eyes sparkling with lasting pleasure, lust, and warm affection.

"You animal," he murmured, smoothly lowering himself until his lips were mere centimeters above Seto's. "Taking me with our clothes on."

"I didn't  _ take  _ you," Seto huffed. "No penetrative sex happened."

Yami hummed, sitting back up, stretching, sighing contentedly. "It certainly felt good enough." A happy breath. "Amazing, actually." He tipped his head back, rolled his pert ass back onto Seto's hips. "Mmm…"

Seto hissed. He was sensitive and wet and honestly uncomfortable, but that view, Yami basking in the fading warmth and pleasure, made him bear through it. 

"Yami," he murmured.

Yami suddenly stilled, and his head rolled forward.

Seto gulped at the serious expression on that beautiful, ethereal face.

Yami's next word was so quiet, Seto wasn't quite sure he heard it correctly.

"... What?"

He leaned down, and his blond bangs brushed Seto's cheek. The sudden tension between them crackled.

"My name," he said quietly, violet eyes burning with intensity. "It's Atem."

* * *

Silent those wings were as the bird settled down on the railing of the belfry. The moonlight cast its smooth shadow onto the brick floor. Talons relaxed, and another shadow, small and geometric, flitted, until it and the object that cast it met against the gray stone. 

Black, glassy eyes blinked. The smooth head twisted on a flexible neck, and wings spread, flapping in silence, and then it was gone, soaring into the night. 

* * *

The shadows trembled beneath the weight of that name.

_ Atem. _

It was the first time it was said aloud in many millennia.

Seto's lips parted, his blue eyes wide. He opened his mouth wider, perhaps to speak, but Yami was suddenly standing, head tipped back, as if staring  _ through  _ the ceiling. 

"What's wrong?" Seto croaked.

"Mahad…" Yami breathed, and, suddenly, he was darting off, out, into the hallway.

Blinking, Seto sat up, and, with a grimace, swung his legs to the floor and followed. "Ya…" he caught himself. "Atem!"

Yes, the very night itself shivered at the sound of that name. 

His sire jumped in his skin, as if shocked by electricity, but he only cast a quick glance over his shoulder before he was ducking into a doorway.

Dejavu washed over Seto as he heard the other man storm up the spiral staircase to the belfry.

"What's going on!" He bellowed up the stairwell. 

"A visitor!" Yami -- Atem -- shouted back. 

Seto's brows furrowed, but he was quick to join the ascent.

Atem burst into the belfry, wildly glancing around. Seto was not too far behind. The cold wind whipped at his bare torso and sapped away the last of that wonderful heat.

"He's gone…" Atem whispered.

"Who?" Seto asked breathlessly. He grimaced. He should've changed his pants.

Those violet eyes, now so dark and sad, stared out onto the moonlit warehouses. "... Mahad…"

"Who's Mahad?" He asked, voice a little rough with annoyance.

Atem leaned against the railing, arms crossing and head lowering. "An old friend."

A slight fluttering caught their attention, and Atem gasped, lunging forward to snatch the parchment up before it flew away into the night. 

He hurriedly unfolded it. 

Seto looked over his shoulder.

Hieroglyphs.

"We should go inside," he murmured, holding… Atem's waist. 

Atem's fist clenched, the parchment wrinkling in his grasp. "They killed him."

Seto stiffened. "What?"

"Shadi. Paradius killed him." He hissed out frustratedly. "They have four of the seven Items now."

"Shit," Seto mumbled.

That was bad.

Right?

It didn't sound good.

Atem was shaking. 

Seto moved closer, a comforting hand on his sire's shoulder.

But Atem whirled. Those violet eyes were red. Shadows rippled around him like an inferno.

He was enraged. 

Seto shuddered, but didn't draw away.

"They killed him," he growled, deep, bestial. The black rippled around him, an abyss stirred.

Seto grabbed his cheeks, suddenly icy cold with rage. "Calm down. There's nothing you can do now."

A snarl, rolling, inhuman. 

Though Seto's instincts screamed at him to draw away, to hide from the murderous intent emanating from Atem like a halo of cold, he held Atem's pale cheeks tighter, curled his fingertips into that dark hair.

"Atem, calm down," he hissed. 

Atem took a deep breath, nostrils curling, then huffed it out. It clouded, crystalline, and frost collected on Seto's jaw. 

Woah. Didn't know he could do that…

"Okay," Atem murmured, but his eyes still swirled with crimson fury.

"So they killed… Shadi. They have four of the Items. You have one. Who has the other two?" Seto asked slowly.

Those burning red eyes narrowed. "The Ishtars." His lips firmed into a line. "They have the Rod and the Necklace."

"Then they're probably next."

"I won't let that happen," Atem growled. "I  _ can't  _ let that happen." 

* * *

His blond hair was stained silver by moonlight. His lavender eyes were glistening discs. He watched, frozen, as the barn owl alighted upon the sandstone column.

"Ishizu," he whispered, not tearing his eyes from the nocturnal raptor that stared down at him.

"Marik," she whispered back. He sensed her step up to his side.

"A barn owl," he whispered.

"I… I see," she said, voice awed.

It hissed, a quiet sound, wings unsettling before it was still again. A scaly, clawed foot lifted up. Parchment fluttered down.

Marik blinked. The sharp pain of Ishizu's elbow in his back made him stumble forward. 

"Well, get it!"

He was supposed to be the Keeper, anyway.

He snatched it up before it could drift away, lost amongst the dunes forever. Motion in his peripheral vision made him look up.

The barn owl was gone.

He hurriedly unfolded it. "It's--"

"From the Priest," she finished. Her delicate fingertips traced over the wrought gold winking at the hollow of her throat. 

He nodded.

"They killed the other guardian," she continued, eyes falling closed. "They have the Scale and the Key."

His fist clenched around the parchment. 

Her eyes opened, their aquamarine depths bleached by moonlight. "The Pharaoh."

"What--"

"The Pharaoh is coming."

* * *

"You're leaving?"

The question thudded loudly in the quiet of the bedroom.

They were dressed now, showered (together, though nothing happened with this understandably foul mood that had come over Atem). 

"Seto, I have to," he replied. "I must get the Items and escort the Ishtars to safety. I cannot have more innocent people die. And I cannot let the Items fall into the wrong hands."

"Can't they take care of themselves?" Seto asked, and he hated how childishly desperate he sounded.

"The Ishtars are  _ human. _ They could not fend off the likes of vampires." His breath hissed out. "Not if Shadi couldn't."

Seto raised a hand to his damp hair, and realized his fingers were shaking. "Humans? Why?"

Atem glanced over his shoulder. "Harder to find."

Seto gripped the footboard. His knuckles were turning white. 

"So… you're just going to leave me behind?"

When Atem spoke, it was with such tenderness that it nearly brought tears to Seto's eyes. "Seto, no. Look at me," he said lowly, stepping closer, his long fingers brushing under Seto's chin and tilting his head up. "I'll come back for you." He leaned up, their lips brushing. "I'll always come back."

Seto snatched him up, tugged Atem into him, one hand tangling in his wild hair and the other gripping hard at his waist. A passionate, desperate kiss. "That better be a promise," he hissed against Atem's lips.

"It is," Atem whispered back. The fervor faded into languid touches, and Atem leaned back to look into Seto's eyes. "You could…" He breathed out slowly. His violet eyes blinked. "You could return home."

"What?"

"To Mokuba," Atem said. "You…" A smile steadily bloomed on his face, a proud smile that made Seto's unmoving heart ache beneath his ribs. "You are more than ready to return to your previous life." He cupped Setp's cheek. The pads of his fingers brushed through the soft, damp brown hair. "You've come so far."

A pale thumb passed over his mouth, and Seto found himself kissing it reflexively. He stood, speechless. 

But Atem seemed content to fill up the silence.

"It'd be safer than staying here," Atem continued, tracing Seto's lips. "Certain… pests will come to infiltrate the place. I'd rather you not here." He grinned slyly. "You could go back to running your company." He pressed a kiss to Seto's chin. His cold lips made Seto twitch. "Go back to being the all-powerful CEO. And a big brother."

Seto finally moved, cupped Atem's shapely face in his hands. "I don't want it without you," he whispered. Their noses were brushing, breath mixing.

"Don't be silly," Atem murmured. "I'll be there to haunt you every step of the way." He winked. "I promise."

"You could move in, too," Seto said vehemently. "There's plenty of room at the mansion. Mokuba would love having you there." His next words were throaty. "I would, too."

Atem's face softened, and he tilted his head to give Seto a chaste kiss. "I would, if it were just you. But my presence would put Mokuba in danger. As you've noticed, I am a magnet for trouble," Atem sighed. He caressed Seto's hair, fingers massaging his scalp sensually. "I wouldn't ask that of him."

Seto melted, grunting in the back of his throat. He wanted to say,  _ We can handle a little trouble _ , but did he want the likes of Rafael and his goons accosting the mansion? 

No. No, he did not.

Those soft, molten eyes peered into his soul, and he knew Atem knew. 

Another kiss, soft and sweet. “I’ll visit often.”

“You better,” Seto muttered.

Atem laughed softly, and he began to draw away.

But Seto’s cold hand latched onto his wrist.

“Why?” Seto asked lowly. Blue cut determinedly into violet.

“Why what?” Atem asked just as quietly.

A beat, only the sound of their breaths.

“Why did you tell me your name?” Seto asked, voice rough.

Atem’s fingers drew along Seto’s -- plucking them off his wrist -- but each motion was gentle, tender. He remained peering into Seto’s gaze, the weight of forty-five centuries in his eyes. “I thought, perhaps, your lips could make it worthy again.”

Seto gulped down the sudden dryness in his mouth. “Is it working?”

Atem stood just as close, though they were no longer touching. It made Seto’s cold flesh tingle with awareness. “I’m not sure.” Those intense eyes looked like an embrace. Seto suddenly wondered if Atem’s gaze alone could set him alight. “But, each time you’ve said it…” a slender, pale finger caressed under Seto’s chin, “it took my breath away.”

“Atem,” he whispered, and watched the most powerful vampire in the world shudder as if caught in a strong breeze.

The trembling in Atem’s exhale was audible, and, once again, he brushed a thumb over Seto’s lower lip. He stared with such wonder, as if seeing something he never saw before, or perhaps something that he’d seen a thousand times but that still never failed to delight him. His lips parted, formed around words that never came out. His eyebrows drew up, and then he sighed, breathy and quiet.

“I want you,” he said, and Seto watched those lips carefully shape the words.

He ducked low, his arm once again looping around Atem’s waist. But a finger upon his lips stopped him in his tracks. 

“Wait,” Atem murmured, and his voice was so deep and so close it made the nerves in Seto’s spine tingle ticklishly. “We can’t.”

Seto’s words drifted past that slender finger. “Why?”

“As much as I wish I do, I don’t have the time to get lost in you,” he said, never once breaking eye contact. “I would never want to stop.”

Seto melted and tensed with desire and frustration.

“I need to go. I need to get you home, and I need to do what I can while it still can be done.” Another wistful breath. “We have eternity for pleasure, Seto. We can wait just a while longer.”

“I don’t like waiting,” Seto growled.

Atem laughed softly, pearly teeth bared in a beautiful grin. “I know you don’t.” He arched a playful eyebrow. “And, to tell the truth, neither do I.” He drew his finger away, and, with no small amount of finality, disengaged himself from Seto’s embrace. “Perhaps the building anticipation will lead to greater gratification?”

“It better.”

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Atem turned away again to continue preparing for his trip. A huge gold pendant, in the shape of a pyramid, flashed coldly in the light.

“Is… is that the real Pendant?” Seto asked quietly.

“Yes. I’m not going to leave it here. Although, there are still replicas littering this place.”

“Hn. How long do you think you will be gone?” 

“No more than two weeks.”

Seto sighed. 

He’d waited long enough to finally touch Atem the way he’d always secretly desired.

What was another two weeks?

* * *

Mokuba cried. Not tears of sadness, but tears of joy, of relief. Seto’s duffle bag was crushed awkwardly between the two of them, but neither seemed to care. 

Seto visited Mokuba often, but that didn’t mean his little brother hadn’t missed him terribly.

“You’re r-really b-back?” He sobbed into Seto’s shoulder.

Seto ran his hand through that wild raven hair. It was so glossy and warm under his cold palm. “Yes, Mokie,” he whispered into the crown of Mokuba’s head.

Anything else Mokuba tried to say was drowned in heaving sobs. 

Seto tipped his head back, eyes falling closed. He was exhausted. It’d been a long night.

Atem lingered at the door like a fading shadow. Seto tilted his head to look at him.

The ancient vampire was smiling softly, warmly, at the long-awaited reunion. 

_ Atem _ , Seto almost said, but something coiled inside him. That name… Atem gave it to him alone to hear and use. He'd better take good care of it. 

"Yami," he settled for, and it seemed wrong on his tongue now, no matter how familiar the syllables were for his lips. 

A small nod, and he stepped forward. Seto turned his head, just enough, and those slender lips brushed against his own for the slightest moment.

"Take care of yourself," Atem whispered. "Don't forget to feed."

"I won't forget," Seto murmured back, and he wondered if Atem saw how his face all but screamed  _ come back to me soon. _

Atem nodded, the slightest tilt of the chin, and stepped away, and the light creaking of the door was just barely audible over the sound of Mokuba's lingering sobbing. 

But he strained to hear it, and surely enough, he did; wings fluttered softly, and the baleful cry of a night heron pierced the dwindling night. 

As the wing beats faded, Seto realized with a jolt --

\-- it was nearly dawn.

But Atem was gone, with not even feathers on the wind to mark his passing.

Not even forty-five minutes later, the sun was breaching the horizon, and Seto was lying sleeplessly in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wuuuuut?! So much happened!  
> Please tell me if it seemed rushed, and it, in a way, is meant to. Because the last chapter and this one all happened in one night. But tell me if is seems a little *too* rushed.   
> Anyway, thanks for your patience and thanks for reading! I'll see ya next chapter!


	16. Cannibal

A white feather drifted in front of his face. It twirled, brilliantly reflected the dazzling light of the sun. 

_ "Beware…” _

The delicate fibers split, and from the tear white wings unfolded, stretched for the skies. They pumped powerfully, flashing like strobes. Orange eyes pierced his lungs and stole his breath.

_ "Beware the pale serpent…" _

Dark hair like an ebony river and white wings and orange eyes. 

_ "The pale serpent will rise. He yearns for the light." _

That maternal warmth enveloped him with so many blinding feathers, so foreign to him. 

_ "Beware… beware my child, for he plans to devour us all…" _

* * *

Seto jolted up, his breath punching out as a loud gasp. His heart seized and ached in his chest, as if fighting to beat as fast as it believed it should be doing. Cool sweat clung to him, slicked his shirt to his chest. He blinked, rubbed a hand over his face. Even in the perfect dark of his bedroom, he could see as if in the light of day.

Three days back home in the Kaiba manor, and it still felt strange. 

He sighed, hitching, as he tried to catch his breath, and he swung his legs over the mattress. Though he couldn’t see through the black out curtains draped over the windows, he could feel the sun hovering just above the horizon.

Padding feet down the hall, and a timid knock on his door.

He looked over his shoulder. He recognized that heartbeat, that smell. Mokuba. 

“Come in,” he called softly. He leaned his elbows on his knees and ran a hand through his damp hair. He grimaced. He’d need a shower. 

The door creaked open, and Mokuba slipped inside. His pajama pants swiped together as he shuffled to the bed and crawled on. He flopped onto the mattress.

Comfortable silence. Simply existing together, a luxury well-missed in Seto’s long absence. 

Seto’s lips parted. “I had a weird dream.”

Mokuba’ breath hummed through his nose. “What was it about?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Seto said quietly. White feathers and orange eyes.

The mattress creaked when Mokuba turned, the blankets ruffled. “What do you normally dream about now?”

Seto sighed softly. “A variety of things. Just, a lot more, and a lot more unsettling things now.”

Mokuba’s voice was small. “Gory things.”

Seto looked over his shoulder. “Yes.” Dreams about Weevil and the others. Dreams about Rafael. Dreams about Atem’s blood-stained hands sliding over his flesh, painting red onto his pale skin, and then that hot tongue following after, wet and hungry. 

That last one was a rather pleasant dream, actually.

“What’s it like, being a vampire?”

“Not as fun as it probably sounds,” Seto admitted. “It’s actually a pain in the ass. Trying to responsibly find my next meal… especially now that I am back to running KaibaCorp.”

Which Mokuba had taken  _ very _ good care of in Seto’s absence. Seto wondered if there would ever be a moment he wouldn’t be proud of his little brother.

He  _ heard _ Mokuba’s gulp. “I mean… if you need to feed and can’t find anyone else, I-I’m always here…”

“No,” Seto said, voice sharp and firm.

“I-I was just offering --”

“You don’t realize what you’re offering,” Seto explained, tone gentling. “Don’t worry about it, Mokie. I can take care of myself. Yami’s taught me well.”

Mokuba didn’t say anything a moment. “Can you turn into a bird like he can?”

Seto chuckled, a little mockingly, though it wasn’t directed to Mokuba. “No. I can’t even do half the things he can.”

Mokuba snorted. “Never thought I’d hear you say that out loud.”

Seto shrugged resignedly. “It’d be idiotic of me not to admit it. Yami’s got forty-five centuries under his belt. It’s going to take some work to catch up to him, but I fully plan on doing it.”

“That’ll take a long time,” Mokuba muttered. His voice was small again, and Seto doubted he would have heard it without his vampiric hearing. “Have you thought about it?”

Seto fully turned to face his brother. Mokuba’s lavender eyes were fixed on the ceiling. His face was somber, so much more mature since… since Seto died. “Thought about what?”

And those eyes, fathomless and somehow unreadable, were focused on him. “Eternity. Never aging, undying, never to see the sun again. Seeing everyone else around you age and die. And you stay here, just like this. An unchanging island in the sea of time.”

Seto swallowed hard. “I’ve… I’ve tried not to, honestly.” 

Thinking about Mokuba growing up, growing old, fading away like some ephemeral blossoming flower, falling like leaves from the trees in the fall. He’s tried not to. But it was still something that haunted him from the dawn into the warm hours of morning.

“You should,” Mokuba said quietly. “Humans have to come to terms with our own mortality, and you need to come to terms with the fact that you may never have it.”

Seto a deep breath to fight the stinging in his eyes. He’d hated crying as a human, and, now that it came with an even greater mess, he  _ detested  _ it. “Would you… would you want it, too?” he asked, voice breathy and wavering, teetering on the edge of tears. “I’m sure Yami would… Take care of you, like he did me…”

Mokuba hummed. “I’ve thought about it, y’know? Like, I can’t imagine my life completely without you, and your life without me. But… I think it’s a little soon to think about that. If Twilight has taught anyone anything, it’s definitely that people should wait until they are biologically mature to become immortal, y’know?”

Seto laughed. It was a fond, broken sound. “Agreed.”

“Because I really wouldn’t want to be in high school for eternity, you know? That would suck.”

“It would.”

Another silence. Mokuba’s steady, warm breaths, his calm heartbeat, it all soothed something in Seto he hadn’t known was at unease.

“I’m glad the days are getting shorter,” Mokuba commented quietly. “You can be up and out a little longer, y’know?”

Seto chortled. “I guess winter is my favorite season by default, now. I’m sure I can go out before complete sunset, as long as I have adequate protection. But I didn’t really need to worry about productivity when I was living with Yami.”

“What did you guys spend your time doing?”

“I read. A lot. By the way, don’t read ‘Moby Dick.’ Most boring novel in creation. Melville dedicates an entire chapter to describing clam chowder. If it comes up in school, just read the SparkNotes version,” Seto said dryly.

“Moby Dick, SparkNotes. Got it.”

“We played chess. First time someone’s ever beaten me. And he beat me. A lot. I’m still a little pissed about it.” Seto tapped his fingers on his knee. “He basically taught me how to be a vampire along the way. How best to hunt, how to defend myself. How to temper my speed and my strength.”

“But not how to turn into animals or become immaterial. I’d still say your education was severely lacking,” Mokuba commented mischievously. “So… does that make Yami kinda like your father, then?”

Seto nearly choked on his tongue. “ _ What? _ ”

Mokuba frowned at him and picked at the blankets. "I mean, he kinda, like,  _ made  _ you. And he's been… like…  _ raising  _ you, like a father would…? I mean, doesn't that make him the vampire version of a father?"

"It's… it's different than that," Seto muttered, though he brain scrambled to explain just  _ how  _ it was different. The things he did and  _ wanted to do  _ with Atem were not things he would ever want to do with a "father" figure. The idea made him recoil with revulsion. "He's… he's more like a mentor. A friend. A guide. And he never mentioned anything about it being like that, either."

Quite the opposite -- in fact, Atem had once mentioned that most vampires, if given the choice, first pick their human lovers to turn. And the… inherent sensuality of feeding from one's sire seemed to entirely negate anything "fatherly," anyway.

Which made him wonder -- if any other vampire had sired him and took the responsibility of educating him, would Seto have ended up feeling the same way?

But those violet eyes lurked in his dreams, the pale, toned flesh, the wild hair.

The small smiles.

The gentle tones.

The delighted laughter.

That fierce honor.

Seto closed his eyes and sighed. 

No, no one else. No one but Atem would have been able to ensnare him so completely. No one else did Seto want to touch and taste and  _ feel _ until nothing else filled his senses, until only  _ Atem _ remained.

And he knew, with sudden clarity, that for no one else, in his life as a mortal and his eternity as a vampire, would he feel with all-encompassing  _ desire _ .

"I'm lucky, actually," Seto murmured, gently breaking the silence that had suddenly fallen between them. "Seems like most of the other vampires are fucking dunces." He chuckled. “I would’ve been fucked.”

Mokuba sighed sleepily. “What do you mean?”

“They would’ve probably left me on my own. Not knowing what to do, how to temper the bloodthirst. I would’ve become a feral animal.”  _ And then Atem would’ve killed me. Eventually. _

“Oh. Then yeah, I guess that makes you lucky.” He shuffled, another sleepy breath. “I’m going to sleep here, okay?”

“Yeah. Go ahead,” Seto murmured back, and barely ten seconds later, Mokuba’s breathing evened, his heartbeat slowed. He’d fallen asleep.

Seto stood. Time to shower.

* * *

It was a little more… arduous to run KaibaCorp under the cover of night. Kaiba easily got the paperwork done, the blueprint reviews, all of the material duties. But meeting with the board -- who didn’t question Kaiba’s new nocturnal habits, but he could still sense their unease. 

In fact, all of his employees were uneasy around him now.

He wondered if they could sense it -- he was no longer one of them. He was a predator. 

It gave him leverage, which was nice. Fear was a powerful tool in the business world. 

That night, as he sat in his office high above the city, he stared out the glass to the dark sky. Dazily, he fantasized of slender wings in the sable night, of a graceful heron alighting upon his sill. 

“One week, Atem,” he murmured. 

But no one heard it, no one but him and the shadows wreathing the lonely corners of his office.

* * *

Tapping keys filled the room. Fast, rhythmic, without pause. The eerie blue glow of the screen cast his face in stark relief and threw his long shadow onto the bookshelves behind him. Seto snorted, then reread what he had just typed before clicking “send.”

He leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling of his home office. He was lethargic, a little weak. He hadn’t fed in… He tilted his head to the side and thought. “Six days,” he groaned aloud. Atem would not approve. Running KaibaCorp… gave him little time to feed. He rubbed his face with a cold hand.

He’d adapt. He’d have to.

He couldn’t very well feed on his employees… or… could he?

He shook his head. No. That would get messy very fast.

With a long sigh, he stood and drifted to the balcony doors. 

The skies were clear. Out here, away from the city, the stars twinkled brightly, like studs on black velvet. The wind was cool, gentle, brushing along Seto’s clothes like tender hands. He closed his eyes, and took in the scent. Grass and soil and faint tinge of chlorine from the pool. 

He leaned his elbows on the railing and let his chin fall, his muscles unclench.

But then he felt it.

Out there. Past the walls of the property. In the forest.

Growing nearer. Prowling through the silver-dappled shadows. 

Vampires. 

He bristled, then quickly retreated into the mansion, closing and locking the door behind him. But a breath, and he was down the hall, bursting into Mokuba’s room.

The boy jolted up, gasping, wild black hair an utter mess. He said something, something incoherent from his still-dreaming mind. 

“Mokuba,” Seto hissed. “Get into the panic room. Now.”

“What’s going on?” he murmured, though he was jumping out of bed with all the energy the situation called for.

“I’m not sure, but I need to make sure you’re safe,” Seto replied. He gripped Mokuba’s upper arm and dragged him out and down the hallway. 

They were closer now, definitely within the walls of the property.

“What--”

“Trespassers. Of the vampiric variety,” Seto hissed. They clattered down the steps to the basement, and Seto all but tossed Mokuba into the open door to the fortified panic room. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” 

“Be careful!” Mokuba cried as the door closed. The lock engaged, and then Seto was gone in the blink of an eye.

He was out in the night air. His chest ached, the phantom pains of what would have been a racing heart. He took a deep breath, let the cool night air trickle into his lungs.

The auras were weak, like the puttering flame of a candle at the end of its wick, but trepidation still swam through Seto’s veins. He didn’t know if he could best them.

Five. Five of them. Five against one.

He advanced out, darting across the massive silver-stained lawn, into the towering trees on the other side. Amongst the dappled shadows, he raced with all the speed he’d finessed from long nights amongst rusted rafters and corrugated roofing.

He slowed upon approaching them. He looked up. Atem would tell him to stay above them. Nimble as a flea, Seto was amongst the branches, crouching and leaping, more animal than man. The way they stilled, backed, told him that they sensed his approach. And, sure enough, there they were. 

Five of them, all males. Dressed in plain clothes, slinking along the shadows at the bases of the massive trees. 

A growl rumbled from Seto’s chest. Deep, threatening. Totally instinctual.

They froze. One looked up, right at him.

If Seto could see through the intruder’s eyes, he would’ve seen himself, pale, crouched on a branch, blue eyes glowing eerily in the dark, a frightening, strange creature in the night.

“Leave,” Seto growled. Shadows trembled, flickered, though it was easily mistaken for wind in the wilting leaves. 

“Ah, there he is, boys. We didn’t even have to drag him out,” one boasted. 

“The little prince,” one mocked, voice high and sharp, bouncing off of the tree trunks. “Don’t have your Pharaoh to protect now, do you?”

Seto snarled. His elongated, thickened nails dragged along bark. “What do you want?” The wind itself stilled at the sound of his voice.

One at the edge of the group stepped back. Nervous, skittish. 

But the others glared up at him challengingly. “You still don’t understand our world, do you? The strongest survive. And we’re here to prove that the Pharaoh is all talk and no game.”

“No,” Seto hissed. “You’re hear to prove yourselves. To have a story to tell. I know your kind.”

Like Weevil. 

“I’ll give you one chance to walk away. You’re making a mortal mistake,” Seto continued, poised, everything in him wound up for the pounce. The instincts rearing their heads easily overrode his uncertainty. He had to protect his home.

He had to protect Mokuba.

He had to make Atem proud.

One hissed, fangs flashing in the night, and leapt up to strike Seto from his perch.

But he was gone, flashing along a branch just above. The bark bit into his palms as he used it for leverage to push away. He descended, clawed fingers extended, and caught the bastard by his throat. He lunged, fangs flashing.

_ In combat, draining your enemy is a display of dominance, power. _

Seto was thirsty, anyway. 

His teeth split flesh savagely, and he held no reserve, tearing into the vulnerable throat with all the ferocity of a rabid dog. The vampire cried, screamed -- gurgling through the dark liquid gushing from his lips. Claws rasped desperately at Seto’s shoulders, but his barely felt it as he drank down the viscous, cold blood he was harshly siphoning from the jagged wounds.

The scrambling, the thrashing, weakened, faded like the copper trickle down Seto’s throat. 

Seto drained him dry.

He unlocked his jaws, loosed his fingers. He dropped the limp body. It fell to the leaf litter like a discarded rag doll.

A gentle breeze brushed against him, cooled further the blood staining his chin, trickling down his neck. He glared down at the others and hissed.

They were frozen, stunned by the gory display of savagery.

The one on the edge -- the skittish one -- twitched, and then he was gone. Fled.

Another cried after him, wailing, betrayed.

Suddenly, Seto was standing in their midst, towering above them. One lunged, but Seto caught him by his throat, and in a mighty heave, whirled, slamming him face-first into the ground. The bones in his neck and skull snapped audibly. Seto dropped him -- lifeless -- and clawed just in time to catch one right across the face.

A scream of pain. 

Seto ducked, and the remaining unscathed one tumbled over him and slammed right into his injured friend. Seto stood, whirled, a roundhouse kick powerful enough to rupture the organs of any mortal man, and one went flying into a tree and fell into a broken heap at its base. 

The one held his face, blood pouring over his fingers, and Seto grabbed his wrists with crushing force. It was hardly a struggle to tear his hands form his face. He kicked weakly, but hardly even battered Seto before the taller man was striking like a cobra and sinking his fangs into the trespasser’s neck. 

But a few seconds, and Seto was discarding the body.

One remained, running into the night.

Seto gave chase, loping like a wolf through the trees. 

He was no Atem -- he was easy to catch, and Seto tackled him mercilessly into the leaf-litter.

“Please!” he cried, clear, salty,  _ pathetic  _  tears, “It wasn’t my idea!”

Seto growled, pinning him to the damp ground, looming over him.

Stained with the blood of his companions.

“I want you to leave,” Seto hissed into his ear. “I want you to go, and I want you to tell all the others that  _ no one _ fucks with me. I want you to tell them what happened here tonight, and I want  _ all of them _ to know that  _ anyone _ who steps onto this fucking property is going to be my next goddamn meal.” Seto shook him, and listened to the frightened whimpers. “You got that?”

“Y-Yes.”

A growling chuckle. “Good.”

Seto was standing now, looking down at the weeping mess at his feet. His lip curled into a snarl, and he kicked the man right in the ribs. “Get the fuck up.”

He scrambled to his feet.

“Leave before I change my mind,” Seto hissed, bristling like an animal, and the intruder was dashing off into the night. Seto stood there, dappled in moonlight and the shadows of leaves and the blood of his enemies, until he could no longer sense the other vampire. A growling hum, and he was off, walking leisurely the way he had come. 

His thirst was sated, Mokuba was safe, and he’d left a blaring message to the other vampires in the area. 

But still, his hands shook as he easily scooped up the bodies of the trespassers. 

He’d killed for the first time that night.

He deposited the bodies at the edge of the treeline. There would be no escaping the sun, come morning.

He glanced down at the ravaged bodies, and his stomach turned.

He’d killed them.

He glanced down at his hands. He was still covered with their blood.

A shaky breath. He couldn’t let Mokuba see him like this.

He stripped out on the enormous patio, used his shirt to wipe the excess blood from his hands, face, and neck. He used a clean section of his pants to open the door, and, whilst in the kitchen, dropped the clothes down the chute to the incinerator. 

He hurried to his room, showered just enough to wash the scent of blood from his body, and, barely dried, dressed and rushed down to the panic room.

He rapped his knuckles on the door.

The lock clicked, and the fortified steel door swung open. 

Mokuba’s eyes were puffy and red, and he smelled of salt and sweat, but Seto didn’t care about it at all as his little brother threw himself into his arms. 

“Seto!” he sobbed. “You t-took so long!” 

Seto petted his hair, held Mokuba’s warm, shivering form until he calmed. 

Mokuba sniffed. “Did you sh-shower?”

Seto chuckled. “Well, yeah. I don’t particularly like being covered in blood.”

As soon as Mokuba tensed, Seto knew he’d said the wrong damn thing. 

“Blood…?” Mokuba’s heart was fluttering like a hummingbird beneath his ribcage.

Seto gulped. “... Yeah. But… but we’re safe now. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You…” but Mokuba his head, and only hugged his brother tighter. “You’re right. We’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

Seto sighed, brushed his fingers through that wild hair. He nearly wept with relief. 

* * *

“Two weeks, Atem,” he whispered, feeling the sun crawl above the horizon. It took some time, but Seto fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Wings fluttered in the dusk, graceful, scaled feet alighting upon the sill. Feathers were replaced by nimble hands that easily slid the window open and popped the screen out of the way. Pale fingers brushed aside blackout currents that rustled in the nighttime breeze.

First one long leg, then the other. Crossed at the ankle. Toned arms crossed. Violet eyes assessed the room quietly, and fell upon the tall figure still tucked into the blankets. 

Lips twitched into a fond smile.

“Seto…”

Thick lashes fluttered, and those vivid blue eyes were hazily staring at him where he stood in the faint, slanting starlight from the window.

“Atem…” hoarse with sleep, but it only made Atem shudder that much more.

Another few blinks, and Seto bolted up, now awake, now realizing who was indeed standing in his bedroom.

“I’m home,” Atem whispered, but it was muffled when his face was pressed against Seto’s shoulder when the other was suddenly before him and pulling him into a passionate embrace.

“I missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seto finally gets to be a badass. Yayyyy! Next chapter is going to be exactly what Atem was doing while he was gone. I didn’t feel like cramming all of that into one chapter, so I decided to split it up.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! See ya next time!


	17. Army of the Night

Under the light of the moon, the cold of the desert was biting and bitter. The winds bored straight to the bone, and they were often accompanied by stinging grains of sand that whipped the skin raw if one were not careful.

Yet still, the trio stood out amongst the desolate pillars, long forgotten by modern society. Here, the sand was cast in silver moonlight and black shadows. The woman in the middle pulled her linen robes closer to herself. The edges of her hood fluttered softly, and she clutched at the golden eye hanging from the hollow of her throat.

She foresaw this. 

But there was no sign of him. Had she been mistaken?

But no. Something deep within her told her this was right.

So she swallowed her doubt and cast her eyes, green as the Nile, to the skies. 

Her brothers shifted restlessly at her sides, though one more obviously than the other.

“Ishizu…”

“He’ll be here,” she said quietly. “I can feel it.”

Marik made a sound, perhaps a grunt, perhaps the beginning of a protest, but he was cut off by the barking cry of a night heron. 

It tore the night asunder, like lightning, and the shadows about them trembled in its wake. Ishizu gasped, her fingers tightened around body-warmed gold, and her widened eyes scoured the sky above.

Sure enough, she saw it there, the silhouette of a water fowl, so out of place out here in the desert. 

Slender wings tilted and spread wider, wider, and she realized they were  _ growing _ , and the bird was no longer discernible from the raging black inferno of shadows it had become. Monstrous black wings, glowing red eyes, and the beast landed on the sand before them. But the shadows coalesced tighter, and a slender man, skin so pale and pristine in the moonlight, stood amongst the ruins of what had once been his tomb. 

Ishizu’s breath, frozen in her throat, now rushed from her lungs, and she collapsed to her knees and pressed her forehead to the sand in a bow. If she could hear past the roaring of her pulse in her ears, she would’ve heard her brothers doing the same.

“My Ph-Pharaoh,” she choked out. 

He walked closer, without sound, but she could  _ feel _ him approach, the sheer intensity of his presence crushing down upon them. 

When he spoke, his voice -- so deep and somber -- came from directly above her. 

“Please, stand.” Gentle, almost beseeching. “I do not deserve such reverence. And I am no one’s pharaoh.” 

When Ishizu, shaking, not from fear, but from sheer exhilaration at  _ finally _ meeting the man that had chosen her ancestors so long ago, finally dared to look up, she immediately met his eyes -- he was crouched, his smile soft and wistful. Violet eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, and his elegant, regal features matched exactly the vague visions she had experienced ever since she was a young girl. 

“You look just like her,” he murmured, and, hesitantly, as if she would crumble beneath his touch, brushed his cold finger on her cheek.

Ishizu felt her eyebrows draw up, but she dare not question the being before her.

But it seemed he sensed her curiosity, and he chuckled, his hand retracting, and he stood. “The Priestess of Isis from so long ago. The first guardian of my tomb.” He offered a hand. “Please, I shall not have you bowing before me.”

Hesitantly, she grasped his hand, and it was with the barest effort that he tugged her to her feet. This close, she realized how  _ short _ he was. In fact, she was a handful of inches taller than him. 

But, he was, after all, from a time period when the people were much shorter than what they are now. 

He slowly retracted his cold hand, and looked to her brothers, who were now also standing. 

“Is it only you three now?” he asked quietly, and it seemed mostly to himself. 

“Y-Yes,” Marik confirmed, and that single syllable trembled so much. 

“That is unfortunate, though I suppose it will make what we have to do that much easier.” He nodded to the amulet hanging at the hollow of Ishizu’s throat. “Have you foreseen the events of this day?”

“Only glimpses,” she said quietly, and she clutched the ancient golden eye in slender fingers. 

“I know it has been the duty of you and your forebearers for millennia to keep safe the Rod and the Necklace, and that this duty has taken as a toll your entire lives and livelihoods…” he said, looking genuinely apologetic, “... but I must take them back into my possession.”

Ishizu nodded. “I… suspected as much.”

“Paradius now has four of the seven.” He drew back the edges of his jacket. Underneath, the Pendant rested heavily just beneath his sternum. “I doubt they could ever wring this from my clutches, but only the gods know what they would manage to do with six.” His brows tensed. “And I would not allow harm to befall you or your family if I could prevent it.”

Ishizu inclined her head. “I understand.” The wind howled desolately through the pillars. “I fear our hospitality has been lacking. Come inside. We can further discuss plans.” 

The group turned. 

But when they approached the entrance to the subterranean tomb, the last set of feet paused. 

The trio of siblings had already descended the stairs by the time that they realized that he wasn’t following.

Ishizu turned.

There he stood, at the top of the stairs, hair rustling in the wind. A most profound look was on his face, and the mass of emotions she saw there was far too complex to easily discern. She realized, with a slight parting of lips, that this may very well be the first time that he had returned to his tomb since his resurrection. 

She parted her lips wider, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what to call him. But it mattered not, for he seemed to push through and then he was descending the flight of stairs to join them at the bottom. His tight breath was audible, and he met Ishizu’s sympathetic gaze with only a a firm nod.

“This place simply brings back a lot of memories.”

* * *

_ He stumbled out onto the blazing sand. He panted, naked there in the sun. The air was stifling dry, but he greedily gulped it down. With one trembling arm, he pushed himself up. He casted a single look over his shoulder, down at those stairs that descended into the darkness, and then up at the pillars towering above him. Ahead of him, a statue of his own likeness stared back. _

_ A tomb fit for a king. _

_ He forced himself to his feet. His knees trembled beneath him. He was so cold. _

_ The hot sun felt so good. _

* * *

The long hallway was well-lit, homey. His tomb was now a home, and not to the immortal spirit of their king as his people had once hoped. 

But he, for one, did not feel sorrow. After all, he wasn’t using his tomb anymore. He’d rather it be put to some use than to crumble amongst the sands of Egypt and the seas of time. 

What had once been designed as a storage room for the many gifts he had been given for his journey to the afterlife was now a sitting room. 

“Please, have a seat,” the oldest brother, a towering hulk of a man, said with a gesture to one of the simple but comfortable-looking armchairs.

He did, and he looked over the walls. The carvings were still there, but the paintings were long faded. Depictions of none other than himself stood at intervals in the still stories. But, everywhere, there were spaces where parts of the carvings had been gouged out. Places were his name had once  been carved into the walls. 

His fingers curled tightly over the arms of the chair. Many he had gouged out himself. In some places, he had even scratched the faces off of the portraits of himself. 

He unclenched his jaw and looked to the three humans watching him expectantly.

The other man, the one with the long blond hair, parted his lips, but then he grimaced. “What… what should we call you?”

A slow, inaudible breath. “You may call me Yami. Or Yugi. It matters not.”

Seto may know and use his true name, but he simply didn’t think he could handle any more calling him that. 

The three stared at him, still seemingly shell-shocked by his presence. 

“This has been a long time coming,” Yami murmured. 

“... Your visit…?” the blond one asked. Marik, if Yami remembered correctly.

“Not simply that,” Yami replied, leaning into his elbow propped on the arm of the chair. He rested his jaw on his knuckles. “That Paradius would at last seek the Items. Truly, I thought it would come sooner… but I suppose we can thank our good fortune that it has taken them this long.” He breathed slowly through his nostrils, eyes distant. “I’m sure you know, this is not a simple tomb. A great evil is sealed here, beneath this earth.” A collective nod. “I fear they seek the Items not just for the sake of them, but to release the darkness that I had banished so long ago.” He stroked his chin pensively. “Simply put, even if my redemption of the Necklace and the Rod kept them from coming here, no doubt they would return to investigate.” His other fingers tapped on the wooden frame of the chair upon which he sat. “Not that my taking the Items would prevent them from coming here in the first place.”

“What… are you insinuating…? That we evacuate?” the eldest, Odion, asked.

Yami inclined his chin. “I know it is much to ask. You have devoted your lives and your ancestors their lives to keeping this ground. Your whole lives have revolved around this one ruin, and… I know the concept of such a visceral change is daunting,” Yami said, voice thick with sincere empathy. “But I ask this of you because I wish to spare your lives. If they come here, Items or no, they will slaughter you without question.”

Grim faces met his gaze, and, he finished gravely, “I will allow no more to die in my name.”

“Your wish is our command,” Ishizu said quietly. “When do you want us to be off?”

“As soon as possible. Though I wish to accompany and ensure that you reach safety, my presence will only draw attention. I will remain here and… deal with any who dare enter. You need not fear being followed that way.”

“Wh-Where do we go…?” Marik asked, voice trembling. 

Yami stood, one hand darting into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out an electrum chain. A small replica of the Millennium Pendant dangled from it. The inverted pyramid was about the size of a quarter. 

“Go to Cairo. Find Rebecca Hawkins, a human, and her grandfather, Arthur. Tell them Yugi sent you,” he stepped closer and held the necklace out. “Show her this. It will clear any doubts she may have.”

With quivering fingers, Ishizu reached out and accepted it. It was cold to the touch. “They’ll help us…?”

“Yes,” Yami said, quiet, pensive. Grave. He gazed upon their faces for a few silent moments. “How long do you think it will take you to gather up your most important belongings?”

They shared glances. Fearful, nervous. “We… can’t be sure.”

Yami nodded. He looked each firmly in the eyes in turn. “Worry not. I will let no harm befall you. If they come before you are ready to leave, I will dispose of them regardless.”

It was a seemingly collective gulp.

* * *

While night still wreathed the desert, Yami sat on a toppled pillar just outside the entrance. He would sense any interlopers long before they arrived… but the air in that tomb seemed to choke him, and those memories, those hazy images from so long ago, made him twitch inside his skin.

The cold desert wind was much preferable to that stale subterranean air…

Yami snorted to himself. Perhaps he had developed some sort of claustrophobia over the years.

* * *

_ He awoke with a gasp. The air was stale and smelt heavily of embalming fluids.  _

_ It was pitch black. He cried out, a feral, wordless scream, when he tried to move but couldn’t. The sound rang back to him. He was bound up tightly, arms crossed on his chest, legs strapped together. He strained, arching, all of his muscles crying and heaving, and, with a guttural, sobbing roar, he heard the linen tear. The front was looser, and he frantically wriggled his arms, but, when he lifted them away, they thumped hard into a cold, firm surface above him.  _

_ The inner shell of his sarcophagus was pure gold. Heavy, cold gold. _

_ He panted through the material wrapped suffocatingly tight over his face.  _

_ He was trapped. Buried… alive… no… _

_ Undead. _

* * *

He shuddered privately, his eyes closing momentarily. He wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to free himself from the burial linens, but it had felt like an eternity. Then, he had to shove off the inner shell of the sarcophagus. But there had been no room to push it to the side. In what had been an agonizing feat of superhuman strength at the time, he had to push up both lids simultaneously to free himself. 

Arduous, laborious. Born again in his own tomb. 

When Isis had promised him a second chance, he had not imagined it taking place in such a manner. 

He should’ve known better -- should have thought it through. Of course he would awaken in his tomb. But he had been foolish, eager to return to the mortal realm right away, despite her stern warnings…

He shooked his head, his arms crossing tighter. He paused upon hearing a door creak open and quiet footsteps on sandstone stairs. He twisted to look over his shoulder.

Pale hair gleamed in the moonlight. Lavender eyes -- washed silver -- blinked at him curiously.

His lips twitched into a smile. “What is it, young one?”

The young man blushed, grimacing a little, and he picked at his simple clothing. “Uh… Yami… Yugi, uh, I was wondering if… if I could ask you a few questions...?”

Yami snorted good-naturedly. “You may. Though I cannot promise that I will answer.”

“Oh… okay,” Marik shuffled closer. 

He seemed to be floundering awkwardly, but Yami sat patiently.

“Have you been… alone…? This whole time?” Marik asked softly.

Yami felt the inner edges of his eyebrows draw up. “... No. Yes, there have been… long stretches of time where I went without companionship, but I have met and treasured many in my years.”  _ No matter how fleeting the mortal life remains. _

“I was just curious. It’s… honestly pretty lonely here with just the three of us. Even when our father was around…” Marik’s voice took on a dark tone, but he trailed off. “And I’ve only been around for two decades…” He frowned and looked away, up at the moon. “I just couldn’t imagine living for centuries… all by myself.”

Yami sighed slowly. “I cannot lie… I have ached for eternal companionship. But it seems like this… curse, brings out the worst in our hearts. Any companion of the vampiric variety… they sought out my power, not any meaningful relationship with me. So I remained more amicable to humans than I did any of my descendants. But they are ephemeral. Spring blossoms that wilt in the summer heat and die in autumn’s chill.”

“That’s… too bad,” Marik murmured, meeting Yami’s gaze and frowning sympathetically.

“I am… no longer lonely,” Yami admitted. “I…” a tight breath. “I think I may have found my eternal companion.”

“Oh?” Marik sounded genuinely pleased. “You found another vampire?”

“It is more complicated than that. He was a human I saved. But, yes, he’s a vampire now.” 

Marik slowly sat down next to him. “What’s his name?”

Yami hummed it. “Seto.” The syllables themselves seemed to summon his image behind Yami’s eyelids. Those vivid blue eyes, so cold and so warm, simultaneously.

“What’s he like?”

Yami gave him a sly glance, his lips curling into a smirk. “Have you ever kept a cat as a pet, Marik?”

“Ah, no.”

“Well, he likes to pretend that he does not care at all while also caring very, very much. Aloof and fickle, but, deep inside, gentle and warm.” Yami laughed, quietly and mostly to himself. “He’s a contradictive imbecile and I adore him very much for it.”

And Seto was passionate and intense like a storm, but attentive and caring like only the most tender lover could be. His embrace was fire and his kisses lightning. Hot and destructive and changing all it touched so irrevocably. And yet so gentle, affectionate in his own unique way. Yami had felt it all, pouring over him warm and strong and loving and desirous. The way Seto had touched him, ravished him… never in all his years had he felt so wanted. Never had someone so implored him for kisses, for touches, for affection. 

Everything about Seto Kaiba was a vortex that threatened to consume him whole, and he relished every second of it. 

“He makes you very happy,” Marik observed.

“He does,” Yami replied quietly. “The happiest I have been in… a very long time.”

* * *

The necklace, its pendant wrought gold warmed by the heat of a living body, dropped slowly onto his palm. Its thick leather cord followed soon after. He wrapped his pale fingers about it. Ishizu was touching the hollow of her throat where it once rested, bereft.

Marik proffered the Rod, and Yami accepted it with his other hand. Standing there, with his palms upturned, his face solemn, he looked every bit the pharaoh they still believed him to be. He tucked both into his inner jacket pockets. With the three Items in it, Yami was starting to look a bit lumpy, but no one made any mention of it. After all, he didn’t seem any less comfortable.

“Go as the sun rises,” he instructed. “In the town just north of here, I have arranged for vehicles to pick you up. They will not leave until you arrive. I understand that traversing the desert during daylight hours is not preferable, but you have no other choice.”

“It is but a short walk. We should make it there before the sun becomes too harsh,” Odion reassured. 

“Thank you for all you have done, and all you are doing,” Yami said quietly. “May you find peace in the twilight, my friends.”

* * *

Yami watched from the shadows of his tomb as the sun’s rays touched down on the bottom of the stairs. The stairs were facing the west, so he estimated it to be about midday. 

He daren’t look elsewhere. Without the Ishtars here with which to occupy his attentions, this place’s aura seemed that much more oppressive. He sat, cross-legged in the hallway, away from the walls and the furnishings. 

It was so long ago, yet, it seemed as though it had just happened. When he had stumbled back here in the night to deface his own tomb, his hands covered in the blood of his tears. It was on a cliff not far from here that he had laid himself down, fully prepared to die an agonizing death. It was there that he did not die, where he burned in horrific agony all the day was long in accursed immortality. His hands balled into fists where they rested on his thighs, and his eyes, darkened with the beginnings of tears, fluttered shut. He tipped his head back and breathed softly. Yes, millennia ago, but the wound was still raw and aching and bleeding. “How foolish…” he muttered to himself.

He’d endure this, as he had many things over his many years. He’d stand sentinel of the place that had once been his grave, and he would ensure that no further harm would come to the people who had sworn themselves to protect him. 

With that thought in mind, he steeled his conviction further. 

None who came with ill intent would walk away alive.

* * *

It was on his second night perched in the shadows about the ruins -- and his fifth night away from Domino -- that they finally arrived.

They had approached quickly, but some miles away, stopped. Yami could easily hear the rumbling of engines over the desert wind. They disembarked from their vehicles. The mechanical noises stopped. They would be continuing the trek on foot. He coiled, shadows curling around him, atop a crumbling pillar. He smothered his aura. 

“Let them come,” he whispered, only for the wind and the shadows to hear. It was carried away on the stray flecks of sand that were lifted up on the breeze. 

Black swarmed around him, until it became him and he became it, and he leapt from the pillar to land in the sand. What were once pale hands were now creamy paws. A powerful neck, pale blonde but striped through with dark fur lifted a head designed for harsh, strong bites. 

A low, chuckling call, small dark eyes flashing eerily in the moonlight. At certain moments, they gleamed red.

The group, only about a dozen, approached the long aisle of pillars.

“What…” one hissed.

“It’s a hyena,” another replied. 

“It’s fucking huge,” one grumbled, in awe of the nocturnal beast standing proudly before them. 

A cackling cry, the flash of sharp teeth, pointed ears lying flat before it was looking back at them. The muzzle was distorted with a snarl, and its mane lifted up in a striped crest that extended all the way to its tail. 

“The hell?” a vampire growled. “Shouldn’t it have run away by now?” Most animals avoided them at all costs. 

“Unless… they trained it to attack vampires,” one replied.

“That’s fucking stupid.”

“Whatever! Let’s just kill it, kill the humans, get the Items, and get out of here,” another snapped. 

The thick body crouched low on long legs, and it cackled at them again. A warning. 

One vampire advanced. It was just an animal -- they could take it down easily. 

But then the beast was charging, leaping. Such a large mass rushing towards the man was more than enough to bowl the man over. Yipping, yelping, snarling, the hyena snapped its jaws down on the man’s vulnerable neck. He screamed in pain, clawing at the beast tearing at his throat, but his nails couldn’t pierce the thick, coarse hide. Those powerful jaws locked down with strength to rival a jaguar.

“Holy fuck!” And they were trying to muscle the beast off, but the hyena was built for power. It reeled off their wounded comrade, its bloody maw flashing wildly, and they jumped out of the way. Its eyes flashed red in the moonlight.

“That’s not a fucking hyena!” one bellowed, watching those massive canines, fang-like in the beast’s mouth. 

The beast bristled further, muscles bunching beneath its striped hide. Shadows whipped about it viciously, and the next time it cackled, it seemed as though the night itself reverberated with the sound. Its eyes were glowing now, and it lunged, tearing into the nearest man. They were fast, but this beast was somehow faster, flashing between them, snapping onto whoever was brave ( _ stupid _ ) enough to try and engage it. 

A flurry of teeth and claw and fur stained dark, dark, darker with blood. The spiky mane was matted with the dark liquid, and the beast’s spittle was dripping pink with it. 

One left. He scrambled back, cradling an arm -- shredded like cheese through a grater -- as the hyena advanced on him one paw at a time. Those red eyes lingered on the back of his stinging eyelids. It was black now, a raging inferno of shadows. He cried in pain and panic when his back slammed into a pillar. 

The shadow beast advanced further, and somewhere in it all it had stopped walking on four legs and was now on two, and now the shadow of huge black wings was falling on him. “Th-The Pharaoh,” he choked, too overcome with fear to notice the tears cascading down his face. 

And then cold black talons were wrapped into his shirt and shoving him up. 

Fangs sank into his neck, piercing like needles of ice. He cried out in pain, but with savage force his blood was quickly drained from him.

Yami casted the body aside when he was finished. The shadows drained away, and he looked calmly over his shoulder to see the carnage.

As a hyena, he could conceal his identity until the last possible moment. He didn’t  _ have  _ to reveal himself at all… but the taste of blood on his tongue had teased his thirst. He hadn’t drank since Seto had offered up his blood.

* * *

Several more parties came. Paradius was being thorough, but none of their paltry night soldiers could match up to Yami’s power, even hampered in animal form. 

An army of the night, all felled by a striped beast in the moonlight. Eventually, no more came. Though he’d been careful not to let his presence be detected, he was sure that those in command realized that at least a powerful vampire had slain their forces, if not Yami himself. Yes, the swarms of vampires stopped, but still Yami waited several days to make sure. The Ishtars’ scent had long since faded on the wind. None but he would know where they had gone.

He carried out his duties with no sleep. He sat and waited for the sun to sink every day. He knew, with all the certainty in his heart, that sleeping in this place would result in the most unpleasant dreams. 

But on that thirteenth dusk, he did not crawl out to await more interlopers. Instead, a crane, black and white and brilliant, took flight, and left the ruins of the tomb behind.

It was empty now. No Ishtars. No Items. No Pharaoh.

Just ancient rocks finally abandoned after four millennia.

* * *

Arthur Hawkins had the most incredible personal library here in Cairo, and Ishizu eagerly surveyed the endless shelves of books. Books on history, mythology, even the ecology of the Nile and the surrounding desert. 

Doctor Hawkins and his granddaughter had been nothing but hospitable and kind. Just as the Pharaoh had said, they had taken the siblings in with but a display of the pendant Yami had given them. There was already talks of the siblings all receiving any sort of education that they desired -- they’d need something if they wanted to live the lives of… normal human beings.

Ishizu sighed and set the book she had been reading in her lap. Her hand instinctively went up to the hollow of her throat, only to touch bare skin. She frowned and swallowed thickly, and looked to the bay window.

She froze.

A night heron was perched right outside the glass. Beady red eyes met her wide ones.

The black-crowned head bobbed in a slow nod. And then dark wings were flashing in the night, and the bird was off. She rushed to the window to watch it fly away.

“My Pharaoh…” she whispered.

* * *

“Damn him,” Dartz hissed, his normally sanguine face wrought with frustration. His heterochromatic eyes sizzled with anger. “Damn that bastard.”

“We can’t be sure it was him…” his underling said nervously.

“Who else could it have possibly been?” he snapped. “Only the Pharaoh knew explicitly the location of the Rod and the Necklace! Who else would care enough to protect them so vehemently?!” He gritted his teeth, fangs bared. “We could only find them because of the Ring!”

“How… how will we get them now…?”

A scarred face warped with a wicked grin. “We’ll get them, one way or another.”

* * *

“I missed you,” Seto breathed, his cheek atop his sire’s head.

Atem melted happily into him, his own arms reaching up to return the embrace. 

“I missed you, too,” Atem murmured into Seto’s shoulder. He greedily inhaled Seto’s scent, and let himself slump into Seto’s arms. “I’m so very tired, Seto,” he whispered.

Cold hands slid tenderly down his biceps, traced past his elbows, and tangled with his fingers. “Come lie down,” Seto whispered back. “Sleep.”

They’d barely hit the sheets before unconsciousness hit Atem.

But when he dreamed, it was only of blue eyes and tender hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yami transformed into the striped hyena, native to northern Africa and parts of Asia. He’s much larger than any normal specimen, however.  
> Oooh man. Sorry about how long this took. I was juggling with some not fun IRL stuff. Like the fact that technology hates me. And cold season sucks. Anyway, I hope you liked reading this chapter as much as I liked writing it! I’ll see you next time!


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